
COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



Twenty Contemporary 
OneAct Plays 

(AMERICAN) 



Selected and Edited by 

FRANK SHAY 



STEWART & KIDD 




CINCINNATI. LL S. A. 



Second Impression 



CINCINNATI 

STEWART KIDD COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 



Copyright, 1922 
STEWART KIDD COMPANY 




All Rights Reserved 

These plays are fully protected by copyright in the United States, 
Great Britain and Colonies, and countries of the Berne Convention. 






First Printing, September, 1922 
Second Printing, November, 1922 



Printed in the United States of America 

The Caxton Press's 

'Everybody for Books." This is one of the Interlaken Library 



APR 25 "23 

C1A705109 



\\ / 



TO 

EUGENE O'NEILL 



FOREWORD 

The present collection of short plays must be 
considered as a supplementary volume to Fifty 
Contemporary One-Act Plays issued early in 1921. 
The same conditions surrounded its development 
and completion. 

The lot of the anthologist is not a happy one. 
He must either select his plays because of the 
fame of the authors, or, he must use a trace of 
critical judgment and include only those plays, 
regardless of the literary standing of their authors, 
which he feels are the best that have come to his 
attention. Whatever his course may be, it is 
always open to criticism. 

The editor has read several hundred one-act 
plays since the previous volume was completed. 
Indeed he has become so inured to meeting per- 
sons who have plays they want published that he 
is inclined to fly every time a person appears with a 
manuscript under his arm. So many merely good 
one-act plays are being written and acted these 
days the editor early concluded that selecting the 
best was not so much of a task as eliminating the 
almost good. In this collection I have ignored 
individual fame and have selected the best plays 
I could find. 

I would like to include Eugene G. O'Neill's 
5 



FOREWORD 



The Emperor Jones, and Edna St. Vincent Mil- 
lay's Aria da Capo. The former is so tied up in 
copyrights that it could not be used. In the bib- 
liography, which is appended, the reader will find 
the play easily accessible to all interested. Miss 
Millay's play,, fortunately or unfortunately, was 
included in the Fifty Contemporary One-Act 
Plays. These two are unquestionably the out- 
standing plays of the last year. They mark, in 
no small way, the high accomplishments of the 
art theatre in America. 

F. S. 
New York, April, 1922. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword 5 

Mirage George M. P. Baird 9 

Napoleon's Barber Arthur Caeser 41 

Goat Alley Ernest Howard Culbertson 63 

^^Sweet and Twenty Floyd Dell 97 

Tickless Time . . . Susan Glaspell and George Cram Cook 1 27 

The Hero of Santa Maria, 

Kenneth Sawyer Goodman and Ben Hecht 163 

All Gummed Up Harry Wagstaff Gribble 201 

Thompson's Luck Harry Greenwood Grover 231 

Fata Deorum Carl W. Guske 251 

Pearl of Dawn Holland Hudson 269 

-^■—'Finders-Keepers George Kelly 3 1 1 

Solomon's Song Harry Kemp 353 

^^Jatinata Lawrence Langner fay 

JChe Conflict.* Clarice Vallette McCauley 403 

Two Slatterns and a King. . .Edna St. Vincent Millay 443 

^Thursday Evening Christopher Morley (a?5) 

^The Dreamy Kip Eugene O'Neill 487 

Forbidden Fruit George Jay Smith 519 

Jezebel Dorothy Stockbridge 541 

Sir David Wears a Crown Stuart Walker 571 

Bibliographies: 

Books About the Theatre 617 

Plays of The Little Theatre 6j8 



>*l 



MIRAGE 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 

by George M. P. Baird 



The first performance of Mirage was given at the 
University of Pittsburgh by the Pitt Players on the evening 
of April ii, 1916, with the following cast: 

Polaina, a Hopi Girl, - Harriet Smith 

Grayson Stone, an Ethnologist, - Riddel Cramblet 

Christine, his Wife, - Irene Garrison 

Hormek, a Psychiatrist, - - Daniel T. R. Dickson 

First Hopi Woman, - Augusta Schmeltz 

Second Hopi Woman, - Claudia Chambers 

Scenery, costumes, and properties designed by the 
author and executed by the Pitt Players. 



Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Applications for permission to produce Mirage must be made to 

the author, who may be addressed in care of the publishers, Stewart 

Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. 



MIRAGE 



CONCERNING THE PEOPLE OF THE 
PLAY 

Polaina, 1 the niece of Chief Loloamai, is a nine- 
teen-year-old daughter of an ancient Amarind 
tribe, and heir to a civilization different from, but 
in no essential sense inferior to, that of the paler 
peoples who have invaded its demesne. She is a 
11 child of nature" perhaps, but by no means a 
simple one. Passion and stoicism, intellectual 
curiosity and superstition, frankness and guile, 
craving and custom, struggle within her. She is 
neither a pathetic fool nor a sentimental wanton, 
but a strong woman with an intense desire for hap- 
piness, an ardent love of life, and the courage to 
attempt their satisfaction whatever the cost. Po- 
laina is dressed in a wrapper-like, blue, cotton 
gown which reaches slightly below the knees. Her 
right shoulder and arm are bare, and a scarlet 
blanket is flung over the left shoulder and fastened 
beneath the right armpit. There are brightly 
beaded moccasins upon her feet, and her legs are 
wound about with strips of white cotton cloth. 
Her blue-black hair is parted in the center and 
rolled in elaborate "butterfly" coils above her ears. 
These coils, together with the yellow squash blos- 



1 Polaina = Butterfly, 

II 



MIRAGE 



soms which ornament them, are a badge of virgin- 
ity among the Hopi Indians, Her necklace, 
bracelets, and large, square ear-pendants are of 
hammered silver set with raw turquoise. 

The First Hopi Woman is a middle-aged squaw, 
while the Second Hopi Woman is probably about 
ten years her senior. The faces of both are wrinkled 
with a thousand little lines. Their hair is stiffly 
braided, and their garments are similar to those of 
Polaina, though much more subdued in color. 
These women are the sibyls of the play, their func- 
tion being not unlike that of a Greek chorus. 

Grayson Stone is a tall, somewhat emaciated man, 
about thirty-five years of age. He is suffering from 
amnesia, superinduced by sunstroke and exposure, 
and has reverted to type. His hair and beard are 
brown in color and quite unkempt, while his face, 
arms, and bare feet are deeply tanned. He is 
dressed, Hopi fashion, in a faded blue shirt and 
nondescript tan cotton trousers. He wears a band 
of red cloth about his head, 

Christine is a well-poised, good-looking young 
woman, blonde as to complexion, and obviously 
Back Bay as to social status. She wears an ecru 
pongee motor coat over a blue summer frock, sun- 
hat, tourist veil, and stout walking boots. 

Dr, James Hormek is a short, somewhat stout per- 
son, who would be singled out anywhere as a suc- 
cessful physician. He has a generous, senti- 
mental nature which he tries to disguise by a 
brusque manner and clipped, incisive mode of 
12 



MIRAGE 



speech. He is dressed in tweeds, golf cap, and 
tortoise-shell glasses, and carries motor gauntlets. 

The action takes place upon the roof of an adobe 
house, which forms one of the higher terraces in a 
Hopi pueblo. To the right and left the walls of an- 
other course of dwellings rise and are lost to sight 
in the flies. At the rear is alow battlement of sun- 
baked bricks, beyond which the silent desert and the 
purple waste of space stretch illimitably. A rude 
ladder leans against the wall, right, and the top of 
another can be seen projecting above the battlement. 
It is the hour before dawn on an August morning. 
Polaina is discovered at a stone corn-trough, down- 
stage, left. 

polaina {grinding corn and singing) 
I-o-ho wonder-water, 
I-o-ho wonder-water, 
Life anew to him who drinks! 
Look where southwest clouds are bringing rain; 
Look where southeast clouds are bringing rain; 
Life anew to him who drinks! 
I-o-ho wonder-water, 
I-o-ho wonder water, 
Life anew to him who drinks!* 

{Two Hopi women bearing water-jars upon their 
heads enter from the left, rear. They put down the 
jars and squat beside them?) 

first woman (wearily) 
Dry! 

* See note on page 40, 

13 



MIRAGE 



SECOND WOMAN 

The rock pools are empty. 

FIRST WOMAN 

The Well of the Eagles has failed. 

POLAINA 

But the spring beneath the yuccas, at the foot 
of the mesa? Even in the moon of thirst it has 
always given sweet water. 

FIRST WOMAN 

Dry, too. The clay bottom is a crust of mud 
burned like adobe. 

SECOND WOMAN 

Only the poisoned pool yields its palmful of bad 
medicine. 

POLAINA 

The old men say that there has never been so 
parched a summer; never so great a drouth in 
all the years since the gods, our fathers, fled to 
this mesa from the falling mountains. 

first woman {taking a gourd bottle from the folds 
of her blanket) 

I have brought the witch-water from the poi- 
soned pool. 

polaina {surprised) 

What will you do with that? 

second woman {significantly) 

The thirst will soon be upon us. This is the milk 
of forgetfulness from the breasts of Death. 

first woman {nodding assent) 

When the throat is afire and the tongue hangs 
H 



MIRAGE 



like a blackened bean-pod between cracked, 
swollen lips, swift death will be good medicine. 

polaina {cheerfully) 

Do not speak of death; the rains must come 
soon. Uncle Loloamai and the priests have been 
three days in the Kivas below the earth, weav- 
ing the ceremonial cords of many colors and 
binding feathers upon the sacred bahos. 1 When 
the yellow line brightens in the east we shall 
plant them upon the edge of the mesa toward 
the dawn, and the climbing sun will bear our 
prayers for rain aloft. 

second woman {skeptically) 

Bahos ! What virtue is there in prayers breathed 
to the turkey feathers and eagle feathers upon 
a painted stick? 

POLAINA 

Last year the Blue Flutes danced, the women 
planted bahos in the white dawn, and at sunset 
the rain clouds kissed the painted desert with a 
crystal kiss. 
second woman {looking sharply at Polaina) 

Some say it was not Hevebe, the Rain Lord, but 
the White Bahana 2 , who brought luck, for it was 
on that day that our herdsmen found him nearly 
dead with thirst in the desert, and brought him 
to the pueblo. 

FIRST WOMAN 

The Great Spirit behind the sun had touched 
him, and the Drouth Demons feared him. The 
Heyapo, the rushing clouds, followed the trail 



1 Bahos = votive prayer-sticks. 

2 Bahana = white man. 

i 5 



MIRAGE 



of the mad white stranger. {Touching her head.) 
The queer are good medicine. 

SECOND WOMAN 

Polaina, this Bahana is your lover. Can you 
not make him work his strong rain-charm again ? 

POLAINA 

He says that he makes no medicine, that he has 
no power. He does not even know whence he 
came, or his name, or the home of his people. 

FIRST WOMAN 

The sun brings forge tfulness. 

SECOND WOMAN 

He is not a man, but a child of the sun. 

POLAINA 

He is a man! {Enigmatically.) It is not well 
that a woman should be spouse to the child of a 
god. 

FIRST WOMAN 

Then you are to be his woman? 
polaina {touching the great wing whorls of hair 
on the sides of her head) 

I would cast aside the blossom of the squash for 
no other. For him alone would I let down these 
coils of maidenhpod and plait them in wifely 
fashion. 

SECOND WOMAN 

The white corn and the red corn do not grow on 
one stock. 

POLAINA 

No, but they are ground in the same trough, 
and when the pika 1 is baked it is as sweet as 
bread from unmingled meal. 



1 Pika = cakes — "paper bread. 

16 



MIRAGE 



FIRST WOMAN 

You know nothing of the Banana's tribe. What 
if the gods should give back his memory and he 
should carry you far from your people to the 
Eastland, where the sun grows cold with cloud? 

POLAINA 

I should be happy anywhere with him. 

FIRST WOMAN 

Perhaps he already has a white woman for wife. 
Some day he may remember. The eagle flies 
far; but when the blood of dying day is red upon 
the canyon crest, he returns to his nest among 
the rocks. 

POLAINA 

For my Bahana there are no yesterdays. He 
was born again of the desert and the sun. The 
past is a mirage. Nothing is real but our love, 
and in it are all the to-morrows. 

SECOND WOMAN (dully) 

Unless the rains come there will be no to-morrow 
for the children of Muyinguava. 1 

(A pause, Polaina continues at her work. The 
First Woman points toward the east, where the 
first light of dawn is brightening^) 

FIRST WOMAN 

The spirits of the dawn are bending a yellow 
line in the east like a string to the great bow of 
the sky, and soon the blazing arrow of the sun 
will shoot upward to the cloudless heavens. 

(From below and at some distance comes the 

1 Muyinguava = life-giving god — spirit of growth and 
fertility. 

17 



MIRAGE 



rhythmic chant of the men as they file up from the 
Kivas or council chambers to make invocation to 
the Great-Spirit-Behind-the-Sun for the life-giving 
rains. They approach slowly. Their song in- 
creasing in volume for a time dies gradually 
as they move eastward toward the edge of the mesa. 1 ) 

{pray son Stone climbs halfway down the ladder, 
right, and stands silent for a moment, a dark 
silhouette against the growing light. He speaks 
slowly, almost colorlessly.) 

STONE 

May you have good in your hearts, O women ! 

POLAINA AND WOMEN 

May you have good in your heart, O Bahana! 
(He descends.) 

STONE 

Will there be rain to-day? 
polaina (approaching him) 

Listen! The men are marching to the eastern 
cliff to pray for it. If the Demons keep the 
breath of the prayer-sticks from the Great- 
Spirit-Behind-the-Sun, the young men and the 
Antelope Priests must dance the dance of the 
rattlesnake to-morrow. Then surely there will 
be rain. 

SECOND WOMAN 

There will be no rain. 

STONE 

The sun is still beneath the rim of the desert, 
but it is already fever-hot. Give me to drink. 

1 Chant should be accompanied by drum (tom-tom) and 
Indian flute. 

18 



MIRAGE 



FIRST WOMAN 

The springs are dried up. We have no water. 

POLAINA 

Is it true, my Bahana, as these women say, that 
in your country it rains many times and the sun 
is as pale as the moon? 

STONE 

My country! I have no country but this. I 
remember nothing earlier than my first sight of 
you as you bent above me and poured the living 
water, drop by drop, upon my tortured tongue. 
I have tried to recall the past, for I know that I 
have not lived here always. I must be of another 
— another tribe. But it's no use. When I strive 
to remember, I am like one in the darkness of a 
strange house where still things and living 
things are vaguely sensed, but are not seen or 
known. 

POLAINA 

Some day you will remember; and in that day 
I shall be forgotten. 
stone {takes her hand) 

I must go on trying, but I shall never pierce the 
darkness. Yet, even if the lost should come 
back to me, if I should learn to remember, it 
would make no difference in our love, Polaina. 

POLAINA 

Are you sure, Bahana? That is a fear that is 
with me always. The call of the tribe is strong 
and blood will answer blood. 

STONE 

No, my Butterfly, love is a mightier magic, 
greater than all the powers, stronger than death 
l 9 



MIRAGE 



itself. You are my tribe, and when my arms 
are about you I embrace my only people. Love 
sits with us in the Council Kiva of Life, and who 
shall dare to make evil medicine where he 
abides? O little Butterfly, have you begun to 
doubt me? Have you ceased to trust my love? 

POLAINA 

No, no, I trust you ! . . . And yet I am afraid. 
Though the coyote-cub be suckled by a dog on 
the roof of a chief's house, time comes when the 
ancient longing for the wide waste of moonwhite 
desert leaps in his heart and he answers the sum- 
mons of the far-off pack. 

STONE 

I am not a wolf, but a man. I shall remain upon 
the roof of the chiefs house. 

POLAINA 

You say that because you have not come to re- 
member. Perhaps you once loved another wo- 
man, and when the thought of her returns I 
shall be left alone. 

STONE 

There can be no other woman, Butterfly. 

POLAINA 

The wells fail, the Demons are angry, and we 
must die of thirst unless the rains come swiftly. 
If you heard the call to return to the land of 
cloud and rivers, the call of life and love and 
your own people, you would go. 

STONE 

In life or death you are mine; I would not go. 
{Pause,) Come, you shall plant a baho for me 
on the edge of the mesa. 

20 



MIRAGE 



POLAINA 

You are a white man, a Bahana! Can you be- 
lieve in Hopi magic? 

STONE 

Our souls are of one tribe, and I believe in you. 
Come! 

{They go off stage, right, hand in hand.) 

first woman {grinding corn) 

I grind the red corn and the white corn in one 
trough. 

SECOND WOMAN 

Meal is not bread until it has felt the fire. 

FIRST WOMAN 

How lies the corn in the Kivas on the Altar of the 
Six Directions? 
second woman {sorting corn) 
A yellow ear to the north, and a blue ear to the 
west, a sugar ear for the zenith of the sun, and a 
black ear for its nadir, a red ear to the south, 
and a white ear to the east. It is a powerful 
charm to lay them so, but to mingle them is bad 
medicine. 

{The southern dawn has come swiftly, and the desert 
begins to glow with the growing warmth of the sum- 
mer sun. The light and heat increase in intensity 
throughout the rest of the action?) 

{Christine and Br. Hormek enter, left.) 

FIRST WOMAN 

A red ear to the south and a white ear to the 
east; an evil charm and a bad medicine if they 
be mingled. 

21 



MIRAGE 



Christine {advancing) 
Good-morning. 

WOMEN 

May good be in your hearts! 

Christine {illustrating her words with gesture and 
raising her voice as one does when one thinks the 
hearer unfamiliar with one's language) 
We wish to buy pottery — jars, you know. 

( The women indicate that they understand.) 

SECOND WOMAN 

We have many beautiful pots. We will show. 
{The First Woman goes off stage, right.) 

DR. HORMEK 

Now, don't be long, Christine. It's hot on this 
roof already, and in an hour it'll be unbearable. 

CHRISTINE 

Five minutes will be long enough, Dr. Hormek. 

dr. hormek {humorously petulant) 

That's what you said at Acoma, and it took two 
hours. O, you women! When the bargaining 
instinct gets you, the devil himself couldn't 
drag you away. 

Christine {bantering him) 

You'll remember, doctor, that I didn't ask you 
to come with me. 

hormek 

O, you didn't, eh? I suppose I'm to let you go 
wandering all over this godforsaken desert alone! 
I never should have permitted you to leave 
Havordton. 

22 



MIRAGE 



Christine {tossing her head) 
Do you think that you could have prevented 
my coming? 

HORMEK 

No, I suppose not. But you'll have to admit 
that the whole thing has been a wild-goose chase. 
Now, hasn't it? 
Christine {seriously) 

I have not given up hope. 

HORMEK 

Ah, but you have! I can see it in your eyes. 
Your voice cries out, "No hope," even when 
you are protesting the opposite. Come, Chris- 
tine, give up this silly business. It can mean 
but unhappiness for both of us. 

CHRISTINE 

I shall not give up until I have found Grayson, 
or have conclusive proof that he is dead. 

HORMEK 

Proof! Great Scott! Haven't you the word of 
the guides and the government agent for it? 
Your brother, who spent months searching the 
desert for him, believes he is dead. No man 
could live without food or water through an 
August week in these wastes. 

CHRISTINE 

The very fact that they found no trace of him 
convinces me that he is still alive. 

HORMEK 

For quixotic obstinacy, go to a woman, especially 
a married one! Here am I, trailing you all over 
this damned — I beg your pardon — this infernal 
country like a love-sick crusader when I ought 
23 



MIRAGE 



to be back home with my patients. Many of 
them are not half so crazy as I am. 

CHRISTINE {coolly) 

Well, why not take a train to-morrow? By 
starting now you will have plenty of time to 
reach the railroad. 

HORMEK 

I shan't leave without you; you know that. 
Christine {banteringly) 

For quixotic obstinacy, go to a man, especially 
an unmarried one. 

HORMEK 

I'm not good at repartee. Hang it all, Christine, 
I want to marry you, can't you understand 
that? {She smiles.) Oh, it's damned humorous, 
no doubt, and I'm making seven kinds of an ass 
of myself, but I can't help it. It's enough to 
make any red-blooded man fighting mad, to 
have a woman like you within his reach and be 
denied her by this gho — {He is about to say 
"ghost" but changes it to) — this romantic fancy 
of yours. 
Christine {serious again) 
Please don't say any more. 

HORMEK 

I shan't, if it pains you, dear, but honestly 
now — 

CHRISTINE 

There, you're beginning all over again! 

HORMEK 

Well, let me have my word out now, and I swear 
I won't trouble you again. We've been at every 
pueblo and white settlement in this benighted 



MIRAGE 



region; you're ruining your health, and still no 
word of Grayson. I want you to promise that 
you'll go back home with me at the end of this 
week. {He seizes her hand.) Will you, Chris- 
tine? 

{The First Woman returns with a back-load of 
pottery.) 

Christine {hesitant) 
I — I don't know. 

SECOND WOMAN 

Pots of the butterfly and pots of the eagle, 

bowls of the rain-beast, and jars with the sign 

of Hevebe. 
first woman {displaying her wares) 

Paint cups, corn bowls, and water-jars. 
Christine {examining the collection with the eye of a 

connoisseur) 

The burning is not so good as that of Acoma. 

{Holding up a small bowl.) How much? 

FIRST WOMAN 

Three dollar? 

CHRISTINE 

One. 
second woman {protesting) 

The lady knows the best. Three dollar it is 

little. 
Christine {firmly) 

One. 

FIRST WOMAN 

Two dollar? 

HORMEK 

Give it to her and let's get out of here. {Takes 
two silver dollars from purse.) 

2 5 



MIRAGE 



CHRISTINE 

It's not worth that much. {Hormek is about to 
give the coins to the woman.) She means two 
dollars Mexican; one of those is sufficient. 

{Hormek pays; Christine turns to go.) 

first woman {taking a small jar out of a larger one 

and holding it up) 

Good medicine! 
hormek {taking the jar) 

I say, Christine, look at this one! Red and 

white, Greek fret, and {Examining it closely) , 

by George, Greek letters — Alpha, Pi, Sigma! 
Christine {as if stricken by a blow) 

Why, so it is! {To woman) Where did you get 

this? It's not Hopi. 

SECOND WOMAN 

We make; Bahana paint. 

HORMEK 

Who? 

FIRST WOMAN 

Bahana, white man. 

HORMEK 

How'd he come to paint it? Who is he? 
first woman {touching her forehead significantly) 
A child of the mirage touched by the Great-* 
Spirit-Behind-the-Sun. 

SECOND WOMAN 

The forgetful one who gives us luck. 

CHRISTINE 

Oh, if it is he! 

16 



MIRAGE 



HORMEK 

Bring him here. 

{Second Woman nods and goes out, right.) 

CHRISTINE 

How long has the white man been with you? 

FIRST WOMAN 

Since this time last year. We found him dying 
in the desert just before the rains came. 

HORMEK 

And he remembers nothing? 

FIRST WOMAN 

His mind is like a bowl before it is painted. 
Christine {moving impulsively toward the right) 

I must go to him! 
hormek {detaining her) 

No, stay here. Try to calm yourself. It may 

be a mistake. It may be someone else. 
Christine {hysterically) 

Let me go! You don't want me to find him, 

you, you — 

HORMEK 

Good God, Christine! Do you think I'm such 
a cad? You're getting hysterical. Brace up, 
girl, I don't fancy having a collapse patient on 
my hands in the middle of this blasted desert. 

{Stone and Polaina enter slowly, right. His arm 
is about her waist?) 

Christine {rushing to Stone and embracing him) 

Grayson ! 
hormek {the sentimentalist) 

O faith of woman! 

27 



MIRAGE 



polaina {interposing and pushing Christine away) 
Go 'way, white woman! 

CHRISTINE 

He is my husband. {She attempts to seize Stone's 
hands.) Speak to me, Gray! 

(Grayson stands dazed and embarrassed and gives 
no sign of recognition. Polaina looks at him 
questioningly, and then turns scornfully to Chris- 
tine^) 

POLAINA 

Let him choose! 
stone {oblivious of the newcomers) 
Come along, Butterfly. 

{Polaina smiles in triumph and puts her arm 
about him. Christine sinks to a seat on the ground 
and sobs hysterically) 

hormek {professionally) 

Brace up, I need your help. It's a case of fugue, 
I think. Pull yourself together and we'll save 
him yet. 

{Stone and Polaina move of. Christine stiffens 
and sits with tensely clasped hands. Hormek 
seizes Stone's arm and forces him to look at the 
"Greek" jar.) 

HORMEK 

Did you paint this? 

stone {slowly) 

Yes. . . . Yes, I painted it. 

hormek {pointing to the design and speaking in the 
even, deliberate tone which one uses with a hyp- 
notic subject) 

28 



MIRAGE 



Greek! Does that suggest anything? Alpha, 
Pi, Sigma! Greek! 

{Stone traces the letters with a labored finger and 
speaks dreamily) 

STONE 

Alpha . . . Pi . . . Sigma . . . Greek 
. . . Greek letter. 

HORMEK 

Fraternity. 

STONE 

My fraternity . . . We . . . there was 
a girl . . . We danced there. 

HORMEK 

Our last college dance. Do you recall the girl's 
name? Christine? 
stone {groping) 

I think, I think it was Christine. . . . Yes, 
that was it, Christine. 

HORMEK 

It was in May, our commencement night. 
stone {piecing the ideas together laboriously) 

Christine, . . . moonlight, . . . Campus 
trees, . . . elm trees . . . Commencement 
. . . Christine ... I asked her and she 
. . . she promised to marry me. 

{Christine is about to cry out, but is stopped by a 
warning gesture of Hormek) 

HORMEK 

You married her. You married Christine. 
stone {very slowly, as one emerging from sleep) 
Yes, I married her. {Showing interest for first 
time.) Where is she ? Where am I ? 
29 



MIRAGE 



Christine (throwing her arms about him) 
Here I am. Don't you know me, Gray? 

stone (his voice and manner changing to that of an 
alert> cultured man) 

Of course I know you. Why shouldn't I ? How 
did you get here? (Looking about.) I don't re- 
member coming to this pueblo. Where's the 
rest of the expedition ? 

hormek (soothingly) 

In good time, in good time, old man. YouVe 
been very sick, y' know. Sunstroke. 

STONE 

Nonsense! Never felt better. What's the joke? 
How did you get here, Chrisie? 

CHRISTINE 

I came to find you. 

HORMEK 

And the devil's own time she's had of it. 
stone (impulsively seizing Hormek 1 s hand) 

Why, Jim Hormek, you old villain! You here, 

too? So I've been sick. How long have I been 

here? 
Christine (caressing him) 

A year, dearest. 
stone (incredulously) 

A year? Surely not! Why, it was only this 

morning I left camp to look for a poison pool 

the natives told me of. 

HORMEK 

A year ago these Indians found you dying of 
thirst out yonder in the desert. 

CHRISTINE 

We have been searching for you ever since 

3° 



MIRAGE 



Brother Jack reported your disappearance, and 
at last . . . Thank God! {She clings to him .) 
{Pause.) 

HORMEK 

I had given you up for dead. 

STONE 

And yet you kept up the search, like the faithful 
old friend you are. 
hormek {looking at Christine) 

Selfishness often travels the same road with 
love. You have only Christine to thank. 

CHRISTINE 

I could not have restored his memory; that part 
was yours. 

HORMEK 

Let it be for my atonement. 

STONE 

What have I been doing here? I remember 
nothing. 

HORMEK 

Living the life of a native, I should think; 
eating, sleeping . . . {He stops abruptly and 
looks at Polaina. Christine does the same. 
Hormek and Christine exchange glances.) 
stone {apparently seeing Polaina for the first time) 
Why do you look at that girl so strangely? 

{There is an embarrassing silence. Hormek and 
Christine are evidently trying to think of the dip- 
lomatic thing to say. Christine succeeds first and 
says gently — ) 

CHRISTINE 

I — I think she has been very good to you, Gray. 
3 31 



MIRAGE 



STONE 

Has she? Strange that I can't remember her. 
(Polaina clutches at her heart). 

second woman {grinding corn) 

The eagle returns to his nest. 
first woman (sorting corn) 

A white ear to the east, a red ear to the south, 

and an evil medicine if they be mingled. 
Christine (weakly) 

I feel faint. (She sways; Stone supports her.) 

HORMEK 

The heat is becoming unbearable. (To the wo- 
men) Any water there? (They nod denial.) 
You've both been under a big strain. Let's get 
out of here. 

STONE 

Yes, but first I must thank these Indians. (Feels 
for money, but discovers that he is wearing the 
pocketless clothes of the Hopi.) Have you any 
money with you, Jim ? 
hormek (handing Stone a purse) 

I'll take Christine down into the shade. We'll 
start for civilization as soon as you can make 
your adieux. Don't linger, now. 

STONE 

Trust me, I shan't be long. (He kisses Chris- 
tine.) Wait for me, dearest. 

CHRISTINE 

I shall wait for you. (Christine, supported by 
Hormek, goes out.) 

(Stone goes over to Polaina.) 

3 2 



MIRAGE 



stone {formally) 

I have you and your people to thank for my 
life, and I am truly grateful. Take this, not in 
payment, but as a poor token of my gratitude. 
{He closes her hand about the purse. She puts her 
hands behind her back, the purse drops unnoticed.) 
What is your name? 

POLAINA 

You called me Butterfly. 
stone {indulgently, as to a child) 
Did I? What a pretty name! 

POLAINA 

You are going away? 
stone {in a matter-of-fact voice) 
Yes, I must go back to my people. 

POLAINA 

The coyote answers the summons of the pack. 
The eagle circles low at the she-eagle's call. 
stone {somewhat puzzled) 

You mean that the white lady is my wife, and 
that I am going back with her? 

POLAINA 

Yes. What of me? 

stone {mystified) 

You? I'm afraid I don't understand. 

polaina {passionately) 

Am I not your people, am I not your woman? 
Have you forgotten your oath, have you for- 
gotten the kisses of Polaina? You loved me, 
and I gave you all my love — all! all! 

stone {starting back) 

I kissed you? I said I loved you? I can't re- 
member. No, no, I never did that! 

33 



MIRAGE 



polaina {unwinding her maiden coils of black 
hair) 

Look! it was for you that I came out from among 
the maidens. 

FIRST WOMAN 

She spoke truly. 

SECOND WOMAN 

She was his woman. 
stone {suddenly realizing her meaning) 

Not that! O, my God! What have I done? 

POLAINA 

In the sight of your gods and of my gods, I am 
your woman. 

STONE 

How shall a man atone for a sin he never willed 
to do? {An agonized pause.) What do you 
wish? 

POLAINA 

You, your love. 

STONE 

Whatever may have been, that is impossible 
now. I am already married. 

POLAINA 

She has no children? 

STONE 

No, but— 

POLAINA 

Judge then, which of us is more truly your wife. 

STONE 

I must go to her. I must go to her. 
polaina {strangely stoical) 

Yes, you must go. It is useless to fight against 
34 



MIRAGE 



the spell of blood, but in the eyes of the gods 
you will always be mine. 
stone (torn with remorse) 

Is there nothing I can do, nothing that will give 
you back your life, your happiness? 

POLAINA 

The wells have failed, and the rains are not yet. 
A little while and I, with all my people, must 
journey to the country of the dead. My suffer- 
ing is less than yours, for you must live with 
your thoughts. 

(A new light comes into her eyes, her body stiffens 
with purpose. Stone is too busy with his trouble 
to discern the change in her. She smiles.) 

STONE 

Yes, life is often more cruel than death. 
polaina {lifting the gourd bottle) 
This is the last water I shall ever taste. Will 
you drink it with me for good-bye? 

STONE 

I cannot take it, when you need it so much. It 
may keep you alive until the rain. 
polaina (coaxingly) 

Will you deny me this last little joy? Drink, 
drink! 

{Stone drinks, hands the gourd to Polaina and 
she, too, drinks.) 

first woman {springing up) 

They have drunk the — 
second woman {drawing her down) 

Peace! The milk of forgetfulness. It is better 

so. 

35 



MIRAGE 



(Polaina raises and lowers her arms rhythmically 
toward the heavens. Her lips move rapidly as in 
prayer?) 

FIRST WOMAN 

She is praying to the Master of the Rods of 
Life, she is praying for the rains. 

SECOND WOMAN 

No, she does not face the East. She is praying 
to the Demons against the rains. She wishes 
to die. 

(Polaina regains her composure. She seats her- 
self and motions for Stone to sit beside her. He 
obeys.) 

polaina (calmly) 

Forgive me. The sun has made me mad. (She 
touches Stone's forehead.) You, too, are fevered. 

STONE 

Yes, I feel as if I were in a burning forest. 
polaina (slowly , in a soothing voice > almost like ail 
incantation) 

Your head throbs, your lips are like charred 
embers. 

STONE 

My throat is parching. 

POLAINA 

The morning wind is dead. 

STONE 

My eyes burn. 

POLAINA 

The desert is burning. It is wrapped in the 
flame of the sun. 

36 



MIRAGE 



STONE 

The heat curves and wavers. The air stifles me. 

POLAINA 

You are very thirsty, very thirsty. 

STONE 

Yes, yes! 

POLAINA 

Your tongue thickens, your throat is a tor- 
tured coal. Thirsty, thirsty. 

STONE 

The sun beats like — like a thousand hammers 
on my head. I think I am dying. 

POLAINA 

Come, I will shade you with my blanket. {She 
draws him to her and puts her blanket about him,) 
You are very thirsty. 
stone {weakly) 

I must go; they are waiting. 

POLAINA 

You wish to drink, to drink, to drink. You are 
thirsty, very thirsty. 

STONE 

Water! Water! 
polaina {her arms about him, holds the gourd to his 
lips) 
Drink! {He drinks.) 

STONE 

My brain reels. {He struggles to rise, but is re- 
strained by Polaina.) 

I — must — go to — to — to drink! to drink! to 
DRINK! 

POLAINA 

No, not yet, my Bahana. You thirst. But you 
will not go. 

37 



MIRAGE 



stone {dreamily and in his first manner) 

Come, we will find cold water, and you shall 
plant a baho for me on the edge of the desert. 

POLAINA 

You have no wife. You have no wife, and you 
are thirsty. No wife, only Polaina. 

stone {wandering) 
A wife? Don't tease me! You are my wife, 
Polaina. 

POLAINA 

The white woman is waiting, but you will not 
go. You will stay with Polaina, for you are very 
thirsty. 

STONE 

I know no woman but you. Water! Water! 

polaina {passionately) 

Kiss me. {He kisses her.) Have you forgotten 

your people? 
stone 

I have no people. {He claws at his throat.) I'm 

dying with thirst. Water! 

polaina {holding the gourd upside down) 
There is no more water. 

stone {frenzied) 

No water? You lie! {Getting to his feet un- 
steadily and pointing into the desert.) Look! 
The lake! Water! The lake, the lake ! 

polaina {laughingy but without mirth) 
Mirage, like our lives. 

STONE 

No! No! It's real, I tell you. Water! Water! 
Come. {He moves to the left.) 

38 ' 



MIRAGE 



polaina (triumphantly) 
The desert gave you to me; the desert is my 
mother. I will go. We shall die in the beautiful 
desert! 

STONE 

We shall not die. We shall live our love beside 
the sweet waters. 

po lai n a {ecstatically) 
Our love shall not die. It shall laugh on the 
wind of the desert, when the morrow's sands 
drift over us. Come, my Bahana. 

stone {embracing her) 
Butterfly! 

{They go out, left, in each other s arms. The 
voice of Hormek is heard below, of stage, right) 

HORMEK 

Ready to leave, Grayson? 

FIRST WOMAN 

The desert has conquered. They follow the 
mirage. 

second woman {grinding corn) 
White corn and red corn are ground and 
mingled. The pika smokes on the oven stones. 

first woman {in benediction) 
May good be in their hearts! 

SECOND WOMAN 

May good be in their hearts! 

voice of Christine {calling) 
Gray, ho Gray! 

39 



MIRAGE 



first woman {rising and turning her water-jar up- 

side down) 

Tenkia! It is all finished. 
second woman (following her example) 

Aye, Tenkia! 

(They pass out slowly toward the left as the cur- 
tain falls.) 



MUSIC 

Polaina's song is the "Laguna Corn-grinding Song," 
while the Men's Chant is the "Lene Tawi" (Hopi Flute 
Song.) The words and music are to be found only in 
"The Indians' Book," by Natalie Curtis [Natalie Curtis 
Burlin]. 

4° 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 

A PLAY 

by Arthur Caesar 



CHARACTERS 

Napoleon Josephine 

Barber Pierre 



Copyright, 1922, by ARTHUR CAESAR 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

No performance of this play may be given without the 
written permission of the author, who may be ad- 
dressed at 359 Clifton Place, Brooklyn, N. Y. 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 

Place. — The village of Plombiers, about two kil- 
ometres outside the city of Dijon. 

Time. — Late one evening in the latter part of the 
eighteenth century ', just before Napoleon s Spanish 
campaign. 

Scene. — An eighteenth-century barber shop in a 
small French village. Leading from the shop, 
upstage, are three short steps which one mounts 
to enter the living quarters of the Barber. The 
shop is divided from the dwelling quarters by 
portieres, which are almost always left undrawn 
so that the Barber s wife may know all that goes 
on in the shop. With rise of curtain the Barber 
is observed pacing to and fro in his shop, ges- 
ticulating wildly and reading from a manuscript 
a poem of his own composition. 

barber {reciting his poem in a loud voice and 
with wild gesticulation) 
To arms! To arms! my braves! 
Are ye but slaves? 
The tools of knaves? 
Such you are. Napoleon lives. 
{With the commencement of the reading, the 
Barber s wife stands in the doorway of the living 
chambers, listening to the Barber. The Barber, 
knowing she is there, pretends not to notice her, 
and goes on louder than ever with his poetry, ex- 
pecting the approval of his wife.) 

43 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



Napoleon, beware! 
Tyrant, have a care! 
Had I you in my power, 
I'd cut you ear to ear! 
wife (smiling, descends into the shop) 

That I believe. Some poor innocent client will 
be found here some day by the police, headless 
or earless or both, if you don't stop being a 
poet and reformer of France. 

BARBER 

There you go, defending Napoleon. 

WIFE 

Bah! Defending Napoleon! I never said any- 
thing about Napoleon. What have I to do 
with the business of kings and emperors? I 
leave them to the perfumed ladies of Paris. 
They can take care of them very well. I mar- 
ried a barber, who told my parents he was the 
best in Dijon, and could earn a real respectable 
livelihood, and now woe is me. I find I have 
been tricked. He has become the worst poet 
in France, and has made a business of being 
Napoleon's best enemy. 

BARBER 

Madame, you do not understand. A woman 
never understands. La Belle France is in 
danger. A tyrant is sapping its life's blood — 
(Grows very emotional and stutters) We must 
arouse the people of France to — to — t — to — 

WIFE 

To look after clients and save France by ceas- 
ing to chase away your patrons with long 
speeches and bad haircuts. (Goes to him and 
puts her hand on his shoulder^) Forget the 
44 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



stories of your ne'er-do-well brother in Paris. 
If he had something profitable to do, he wouldn't 
know nor care how many times a day a man 
beats his wife, even if that fellow were Na- 
poleon. You were the best barber in France, 
and now you are merely the worst rhymester 
in the world. Give it up, I beg you. 

BARBER 

I can't — {Very emotional) I can't. Do you 
remember General Du Bois? 

WIFE 

Yes, the kind old man in charge of the Dijon 
section. 

BARBER 

Exactly. He is dead. A suicide. 

WIFE 

Dead! A suicide? Why? 

BARBER 

Napoleon insulted him. 

WIFE 

Poor man. 

BARBER 

Yes, he found him off duty. Is that such a 
crime, I ask you? And told him in front of 
several people, after recalling that he had dec- 
orated him with the Legion of Honor, he would 
shoot him in the very field where the old gen- 
eral had received the decoration, and with as 
much ceremony, if he found him away again 
without permission. Is that the way to talk 
to an old soldier? 

WIFE 

Well, I don't know, dear, but it seems to me 
that the General ought to have been soldier 
45 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



enough to stick at his work, even as you ought 
to be barber enough to shave, shave, shave. 

BARBER 

My God, woman, are you in love with that 
devil? Oh, if I could have him here now, I 
would cut his neck from ear to ear! I would, 
may God help me! 

{During this speech the door leading from the 
street into the shop has been quietly opened \ and 
in the doorway , listening, stands a private sol- 
dier. He is unshaven, his shoulders are stooped, 
and his hair in the back is noticeably long.) 

NAPOLEON {bows) 

Pardon. May a tired soldier of France be 
shaved here? 

{Madame makes a hasty exit up the steps which 
lead to the living quarters, enters the dwelling 
chambers, and draws the curtain. The Barber 
fumbles nervously with the manuscript and then 
thrusts it into his blouse?) 

barber {nervously) 

Eh, good day, my friend. Certainly, gladly. 
Seat yourself. You must be tired. 

napoleon {goes to chair and sits in it with a great 
sigh of relief) 

I am tired. War is very hard work. It is 
very hard for me, because I don't like seeing 
blood. I hate red. If I could but stop for a 
moment marking time for Fate. Destiny is a 
hard master. He punishes and rewards you 
within the minute; he ruins you while you 
sleep. To him, a lost minute is eternity. 
46 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



{Stretches and sighs.) Ah, but for a rest, with- 
out anxiety and fear. 
barber (with cup in handy and not quite under- 
standing) 

Without fear? Poor fellow! Do the officers 
beat you? 

NAPOLEON 

Yes, sometimes, when I'm not paying atten- 
tion. When I'm off guard. 
barber (putting down the cup) 
Ah, it must be a hard life for you. Nothing to 
do but kill and avoid being killed. 

NAPOLEON 

You talk as if death were the thing to be 
feared. Ah, no; ah, no. It is life which holds 
out the promise of tomorrow. Death is the 
messenger of yesterday. I know of Caesar and 
Rome, but what do I know of tomorrow? 

BARBER 

Oh, yes; quite right. Tomorrow you may be 
dead, poor fellow — 

NAPOLEON 

Do you read the stars? Is this prediction — 

BARBER 

I hear of men dying in the thousands. I hear 
strange stories of their blessing him who sends 
them to their death. (Gets excited.) Why? 
Sir — for whom do they die? 

NAPOLEON 

It is true, they bless him as they die — but why 
they should bless him as they die, I cannot say. 
(Napoleon noticeably affected.) I will never forget 
the lad who stood beside him, a messenger, in 
one of the battles of our last campaign. He was 
47 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



hardly fifteen, a child from the province of 
Dordogne, a dispatch carrier. I saw him shot 
through the heart, but still grasping the mes- 
sage, he saluted the Emperor: "God bless you, 
sire, your generals are victorious/' {Shakes his 
head.) Poor lad, why should he have died 
blessing him, I wonder? 

BARBER 

Why, indeed, poor son of his miserable parents — 
Why, indeed, for a ridiculous little man they 
call Napoleon a tyrant, sucking the life's blood 
of France ? 

NAPOLEON 

Quite right. A nooody, a ridiculous little man, 
the son of a bandit, bred in a bandit cave, who 
walked hungry through the streets of Paris, 
making promises to his stomach that it would 
sometime be fed power. The tears which 
flowed down his cheeks from his sleepless eyes 
watered this will to power. 

barber {very much encouraged. At last he has 
found a client who agrees with him^ he thinks) 
Ah, how well you put it! Such elegant lan- 
guage! You should be a journalist. He is a 
traitor, too; we mustn't forget that. He betrayed 
the Revolution. 

NAPOLEON 

Traitor, traitor; that's it. He cut off the hot 
heads and heated the cold ones. He turned the 
tide of blood-stained reason from suicide to 
system and order. And for such a reward; for 
a ridiculous eagle no handsomer than Han- 
nibal's, but weighing a good deal heavier. 

4 8 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



Traitor, indeed! He should be murdered in a 
bathtub by some kind mistress. 

BARBER 

Or a barber shop. Would it were mine. 

NAPOLEON 

You really hate him ? You must know him well. 

BARBER 

Know him? Know him? I certainly do. He 
beats his wife, hates children, insults his gen- 
erals, kills innocent soldiers for sport. 

NAPOLEON 

What does this monster look like who feeds on 
the blood of men ? 

BARBER 

Just like the devil. Short, with popping eyes 
which burn into you like hot coals; a big head 
like a cabbage. Sometimes he looks like an 
imbecile and sometimes like a bloodthirsty 
monster whose compressed lips hide carniv- 
orous teeth. 

NAPOLEON {sighs) 

You know him well, very well. A few mistakes 
in observation here and there, but for the rest 
you know him like a poor relation. 

BARBER 

Ah, then you know him, too. 

NAPOLEON 

Not too well. 

BARBER 

You served under him? 

NAPOLEON 

I served for him. I was his bodyguard; aye, 
his soul guard, too, if you please, for I saw to 
it that naught got to him which would inter- 
49 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



fere with his course for a moment. I knew 
that there was ever present the germ of his 
own destruction in himself. He is sentimental 
and sensitive. 
barber (with much awe) 
Then you were close to him? 

NAPOLEON 

So near to him I could hurt him with a word, a 
look. I could have permitted jealousy to 
smuggle its vicious sting into his consciousness, 
or dangerous doubting, or perhaps, the most 
destructive of all, indigestion. But I chal 
lenged them all. 

BARBER 

Yet you are still a private. What was your 
reward from the ungrateful one? 

NAPOLEON 

Reward was ever present in the game. The 
harder I watched, the greater his warning to 
watch harder, more carefully. The smaller the 
danger the greater was my carefulness. "For 
Fate," he would say, "lurks in strange places, 
and Destiny chooses strange moments for his 
practical jokes." 

BARBER 

Did he never say a kind word to you, the 
tyrant? 

NAPOLEON 

Yes, I remember one night when he was very 
kind to me. He reviewed his entire life for me. 
We had been in retreat for several days. Dur- 
ing this time we had not tasted meat. The 
first day we had settled ourselves more or less 
50 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



permanently, he ordered a full-course supper. 
When the cook served it to him he ate it 
ravishedly. That night he was sick. He sighed 
and groaned and tossed about. 

BARBER 

Oh, had he died, what a blessing that would 
have been. 

NAPOLEON 

Early that morning I heard him call my name. 
"What is it, sire?" I asked. "Indigestion," he 
replied, "my worst enemy. Listen, soldier. 
Some day I shall lose all I have worked for be- 
cause of my stomach. I have mastered all 
elemental passions and emotions, but my desire 
to eat, my ravishing desire to eat." Then, 
pointing to his stomach, he said: "There lies 
the source of victory and defeat; there lies the 
fate of England and the world and Napoleon. 
Achilles has bequeathed me his vulnerable heel 
and I have swallowed it." 

BARBER 

I would have relieved him of his misery quickly, 
the vicious dragon. 

NAPOLEON 

I think his ravishing appetite is responsible 
for his speaking nights. 

BARBER 

His conscience, my friend. How can one rest 
when he is responsible for the bloody deaths of 
thousands? His heart must be as heavy as 
lead — 

NAPOLEON {sighs) 

Nearly crushed, I should think. 
5i 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



BARBER 

What does he say in his sleep? {Anxiously) 
What does he do? 

NAPOLEON 

He is usually weeping. "Ah, woe is me!" he 
cries, "woe is me. My generals lie to me; they 
betray me. They promise to bring me the 
hearts of ten thousand enemies, and I only get 
one thousand." 

barber {disgusted) 
Hearts of men, the snake! 

napoleon {continues) 

Then he calls the names of his marshals. 
"Ney," he cries, "bring me the Colosseum. This 
day, BKicher, spare no children! General, 
bring me the Pope's ring this noon!" 

barber (very much excited) 
Heathen! Devil! No respect for God or 
man! Oh, I could make short of him! May 
God appoint me his executioner! 

napoleon (reaches his climax in these gross exag- 
gerations now. He draws the barber nearer by 
speaking very quietly and dramatically) 
That is not the worst, for it is in the early 
morning that he sends a chill running up and 
down my spine. He repeats this tale every 
night. I think it is a fixed thought with him. 

barber (anxiously) 
What is it? 

NAPOLEON 

You know how fond he is of the Orient. It 
appeals to his dramatic sense — the pomp and 
ceremony. Well, he has planned for himself a 
gorgeous Oriental funeral. He directs that his 

52 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



successor gather together five thousand French- 
men. They must represent every trade and 
profession — mechanics, tradesmen, lawyers, doc- 
tors, and barbers. Every small village is to 
give up its quota in barbers, et cetera. These 
are to be buried with him in Oriental fashion to 
keep him company. "I love France and 
Frenchmen!" he cries. "I must have them in 
death even as in life." 

BARBER 

Horrible ghoul! What an idea! Phew! (Gets 
very excited.) Oh, if I only had him here — 

NAPOLEON 

Seeing you so excited, my dear friend, about the 
trials of La Belle France, makes me a little bit 
afraid that you might cut me. 
barber (very proudly) 
Not at all; not at all. I am the best barber in 
Dijon. (Now very profoundly) And, besides, 
shaving has nothing to do with revolution. I 
keep them separate. One is an ideal and the 
other a job. You understand. 

NAPOLEON 

Except when you have Napoleon for a cus- 
tomer. I suppose then the ideal and the job 
meet. 

(Napoleon and the Barber laugh. The Barber 
proceeds to lather Napoleon's face. He has one 
side completely lathered when he suddenly stops 
and searches through his blouse for the poem.) 

BARBER 

I am going to read you my revolutionary 
masterpiece. 

53 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



NAPOLEON 

Do you mind completing the art you have 
already commenced? The soap is drying on 
my face. 

barber {pays no attention to him, but wildly ges- 
ticulating, recites the poem, while Napoleon 
smiles and squirms uncomfortably in his chair. 
Starts to lather Napoleon' s face again, and this 
time begins the shaving of him) 
In those funeral arrangements did he include 
barbers? Are you sure he expects to get one 
at least from every village? 

NAPOLEON 

Quite sure. I remember his distinctly saying 
barbers. Sometimes he would miss a doctor or 
a lawyer, but a barber never. 

BARBER 

Oh, if the man who shaves him only knew! If 
I were his barber — oh, if he were my customer, 
I would give him his funeral. 

NAPOLEON 

What can a barber do to Napoleon? 

barber {very much surprised. He gives his razor 
an energetic honing, lifts the head of Napoleon 
by the chin a little higher so that the head is 
thrown back, exposing the neck advantageously, 
then he turns his razor so that the blunt edge meets 
the neck of Napoleon) 

Look. Just this — {runs the blunt edge across 
Napoleon's neck from ear to ear) and no more 
Napoleon, no more tyranny, and a barber is 
the saviour of France. 
54 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



NAPOLEON 

True. A freak stroke of fate, and a barber suc- 
ceeds where kings and emperors fail. 

(Napoleon throws his head back and shuts his 
eyes and the Barber completes the shaving of 
Napoleon, whistling Revolutionary tunes as he 
proceeds?) 

barber (pats Napoleon on the face) 
Ah! Now you look like a young bridegroom 
all ready for — (Whispers in Napoleon's ear and 
laughs. Napoleon has an accommodating smile.) 
My Josephine likes me smooth-shaven. She 
says she does not like me unshaven; it scratches 
her skin. Vain women. They are strange, 
aren't they? 

napoleon (startled, repeats) 
Josephine — Josephine. 

BARBER 

Yes, that's the name of my wife, the woman 
you saw here when you entered. 

NAPOLEON 

Josephine — your wife? 

BARBER 

Certainly, my good friend. Are you dreaming? 
Certainly my wife. 
napoleon (more to himself, with his back to the 
Barber. He has turned about in the chair and 
looks out into the dirt path which leads to the 
barber shop. The sun is setting and it is growing 
darker) 

Strange what images the sound of a name can 
conjure up. The mention of that name has 
driven from my mind the plans of empire, 
55 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



wiped from my will the ambitions of a lifetime. 
I am one with him, just male, just male, crowded 
with sentimental yearnings of love and father- 
hood and — 

BARBER 

Speaking to yourself? 
napoleon {pays no heed. Still to himself, while 
the Barber hones a razor) 

Strange how the years are destroyed by that 
name. There she stands, in that drawing- 
room, surrounded by the pampered pale aris- 
tocracy of Paris. She, an Amazon in their 
midst. The heat of the southern sun which 
colored her ancestors gave her the passion of 
its soul. Oh, Josephine, {quietly) Josephine, 
you are mine in Egypt, on the battlefield, in 
my tent in Italy, in victory and defeat, Jose- 
phine. 

BARBER 

Pardon. Have you ever heard Napoleon speak 
of his Josephine? The poor woman does not 
miss him and his beatings, I suppose. Do you 
think he ever gives a thought to her — the 
devil? I hear because of him she is not invited 
to the salons of Paris. She is left lonely, poor 
woman. 
napoleon {with much disgust) 

Insects creep without much sense of honor or 
loyalty. Today they ignore her, but to- 
morrow they will fawn at her feet and, like 
lice, feed on the bounty and glory which she 
may be able to bestow upon them. Phew! 
Weep if you will about the destruction of 
thousands on the battlefields. To one strong 

56 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



oak there are thousands of fungi which must be 
destroyed before the strong can serve. 

barber {slowing growing conscious of a great per- 
sonality. He takes sidelong looks at his patron 
as he hones his razors. He speaks little now, but 
keeps constantly honing a razor, listening and 
testing its sharpness) 

Don't lose your kindness, sir. Perhaps it's 
because of her recent caprices with a young 
army lieutenant. 

napoleon (has heard this rumor before. He rises 
in the chair in a rage. The Barber hones) 
Lying lepers, slimy things which lie awake in 
the still night, planning the destruction of the 
fittest. Vultures, whose claws dig deepest when 
one is most helpless. Dark scientists of tears 
and laughter who study the human emotions, 
will, and intellect for their cowardly profit. 
They know to the gram the kind of stuff to 
feed the emotions until such time when it will 
in its desperation ride wildly over the will and 
intellect, destroying the victim of their un- 
scrupulousness. But they shall eat the entrails 
of the weaker great, not the really great, for 
such caliber of food is too rich for their flutter- 
ing hearts. 

(The Barber listens to this speech not really 
meant for his ears, honing his razors and testing 
them. A look of suspicion has come into the 
face of the Barber. Napoleon knows he has be- 
trayed himself. There enters from the street 
Pierre, the Barber s son. He is about ten years 
old, and is singing a French song. He spies the 
SI 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



soldier and runs to him. Napoleon takes him up 
in his lap and kisses him.) 



PIERRE 

Hello! Are you a soldier with Napoleon? 

NAPOLEON 

Yes, my little friend. 

PIERRE 

I want to be a soldier with Napoleon. 

NAPOLEON 

Do you? And why? 

PIERRE 

I like to fight, to sleep in tents, to march to the 
drum. 

{The Barber looks disapprovingly at his son y but 
continues to hone razors?) 

NAPOLEON 

You may be a general some day. 

PIERRE 

My father doesn't like generals. 

NAPOLEON 

Why? 

PIERRE 

I don't know. He says they murder people. 
But mother says they sometimes make real men 
out of what look like people. 

NAPOLEON {laughs) 

That's true. 

PIERRE 

I can recite. 
Napoleon {pressing the boy closer to his breast) 
What? 

PIERRE 

Egalite, fraternite — liberte. 
58 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



NAPOLEON 

That's fine — a soldier in their name. A good 
sentiment. 

{From behind the portieres is heard the calling of 
the name "Pierre") 

PIERRE 

I must go now. Mother will want an explana- 
tion for my staying so long after school was 
out. But I played war and won the battle. 

(Pierre by this time has gotten off Napoleon s lap 
and is walking toward the steps which lead up to 
the living quarters?) 

NAPOLEON 

Fine boy. 

PIERRE 

Goodbye, father. 

(Barber, continuing to hone, says goodbye to the 
boy rather absent-mindedly.) 

NAPOLEON 

Wait a moment, Pierre. Did you say that you 
won that battle? 

PIERRE 

Yes — the battle of Dijon. 

NAPOLEON 

Come here, my general! 

(Pierre approaches Napoleon. Napoleon fumbles 
in his coat for a medal of the Legion of Honor, 
pins it on him, kisses him, and salutes him. 
Pierre runs up the steps shouting.) 

PIERRE 

Mother! Mother! See what I have! 
59 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



{The Barber has watched this proceeding with 
great awe. By this time he has laid out all his 
razors with their blades extended.) 

BARBER 

But, sir, only he can do this — give the medal 
of the Legion. Are you — 

NAPOLEON 

Whom? 

{Both men look at each other intensely. There is 
in the face of the Barber a knowledge of the cer- 
tain identity of Napoleon, Napoleon seems to 
read the thoughts of the Barber as he gazes at the 
newly sharpened razors.) 

napoleon {runs his hands over his neck) 

You have not quite finished. My neck here — 
it is a little rough in spots. It will take but a 
moment. 

barber {anxious and nervous) 
Only a minute, sir. 

{Chooses one of the newly sharpened razors, 
hones it again, pulls from his head a hair, and 
tests it. A smile of satisfaction lights up his 
face. Napoleon watches him intensely. He lays 
his head back, staring firmly up into the face of 
the barber. The Barber grows more and more 
nervous as he commences to shave Napoleon s 
neck. Napoleon watches him intensely. His 
eyes hold those of the barber firmly fixed upon 
him. The hand of the Barber shakes noticeably^) 

napoleon {just audibly) 

No accidents, my friend. This requires will- 
power. I cannot be the victim of accident. 
60 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



barber (throws his razor to the ground, falls to 
his knees before him, and shrieks in a high pitch 
nervously) 

My God! I can't! You are too human! I 
can't! You are too strong! You are the 
Emperor! Forgive me. 

{Enter from the living quarters the Barber s wife 
and her son. They hear the last words — "You 
are the Emperor." The Barber s wife falls to her 
knees; Pierre runs to Napoleon's side.) 

WIFE 

Forgive him. He is a good barber and a good 
husband, but a fool. 
napoleon {holding Pierre's hand) 

Rise, madame. You are forgiven for marrying 
a fool. You are punished beyond measure. 

BARBER 

Forgive me. I did not mean to preach revolu- 
tion. I did not know you were a man. I 
thought you were a devil. I did not mean to 
preach revolt. Forgive me. 
napoleon {acting up to the situation, feigning 
anger) 

Forgive you? Listen, Barber. You held the 
fate of France in your hand; aye, perhaps the 
entire world, and you had not the courage to 
go on. That, Mr. Barber, is the real difference 
between us — personality, the will to power. I 
can forgive you your revolutionary rantings. 
I love those who hate me; they prove my in- 
vincibility. I am too vain to hang those that 
oppose me. The spirits of Hannibal and Con- 
stantine, Alexander and Caesar live within me. 



NAPOLEON'S BARBER 



I cannot hang barbers for opposing me, but 
listen: The next time you take the imperial 
name in vain to rhyme with an impossible 
word, you have my word that you will hang 
for it. I can forgive bad shaving, but bad 
poetry never. 

{He turns swiftly on his heels in military fashion. 
It has grown quite dark now y and there is just 
barely seen the figure of Napoleon disappearing 
through the street door.) 

barber {as he rises to his feet exclaims to his wife) 
Think of it, Josephine! Think of it! I have 
been honored by the Emperor! 

CURTAIN 



62 



GOAT ALLEY 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 

by Ernest Howard Culbertson 



CHARACTERS 

Lucy Belle Dorsey 
"Slim" Dorsey, her Brother 
Aunt Rebecca, an Old Negress 
Lizzie Gibbs, a Mulatto Woman 
Sam Reed, alias "Mule" Reed 
Fanny Dorsey, ) -,..,, 
Israel Dorsey, J Children 
Policeman 
A Young Baby 

Goat Alley is here published as a One-Act Play. It was later re- 
written and made into a long play. The extended version may be 
had from the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. 



Copyright, 1922, by ERNEST HOWARD CULBERTSON 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Applications for permission to perform this play should be addressed 

to the author, Ernest Howard Culbertson, Society of American 

Dramatists and Composers, 148 West 45th Street, New York City, 

No performance may be given without his written consent. 



GOAT ALLEY 

SCENE 

The curtain rises on the sitting-room of a negro's 
squalid dwelling in Goat Alley, Washington , D. C. 
At the Right Back there is a door giving directly on 
the street^ and when it is open one gets a glimpse 
of the miserable, tumble-down houses on the oppo- 
site side. At Left Back is a window >, one pane of 
which is broken out and an old shirt stuck in the 
hole. The one or two filthy rag-carpet rugs which 
lie on the floor serve only in a small measure to 
cover its bareness. Several old y broken, and bat- 
tered chairs stand here and there about the room. 
At Left Center is a door leading into the other room 
of the house. Between it and the wall at Back is a 
door opening into a closet. IS! ear the door. Left 
Center ; and toward the front stands a battered table 
on which lie, in disordered array, papers and one 
or two dog-eared books with their backs off. It is 
night and a lighted oil lamp, with the chimney 
badly smoked, rests in the center. The wick is 
turned low, and the guttering flame causes count- 
less shadows to disport themselves eerily about the 
room. Flamboyant lithographs, a gilt-framed 
picture of Jack Johnson, wearing his golden 
smile, an engraved portrait of Abraham Lincoln, 
and several grotesque crayon portraits, presumably 
of members of the family {crassly inexpressive), 
adorn the dirty and discolored walls. An old cor- 
set, a half -eaten roll, and a doll, with the head off, 

65 



GOAT ALLEY 



lie about on the floor, A horseshoe is nailed over 
the center of the door, Back. 

Aunt Rebecca, an old, coal-black negress, enters, 
Back, with a shawl thrown over her shoulders. She 
has the appearance of an animated mummy. Her 
eyes are small and bead-like, and shine with an 
uncanny lustre; her hands, long and bony y re- 
sembling the talons of a hawk. She glances about 
inquiringly, gives an impatient grunt, then turns 
and slowly closes the door. 

aunt rebecca (in high-pitched, raspy tones, as she 
moves to the Center) 
Lucy Belle! Oh, Lucy Belle! 

lucy belle (from the next room) 
Yassum! Jes' a minute. 

(Aunt Rebecca moves slowly about the room, 
mumbling to herself. Presently Lucy Belle enters, 
Left, wearing a black straw sailor hat, badly 
misshapen, and carrying a basket of washing. 
She is a frail, light-brown, young negress of about 
twenty-eight. She has a nervous, hesitating man- 
ner.) 

LUCY BELLE 

Oh! I'se so glad yo's yere. Yo' kin stay a 
while, kain't yo'? (Aunt Rebecca grunts and 
nods?) I wants yo* ter stay wid de chillen while 
I runs out wid dis yere washin'. Only take a 
minute — 'roun ter Miss Erminie's. (Lucy Belle 
deposits the washing on a chair.) Seem mighty 
good ter have yo* so handy onct more. Jes' like 
ole times. Les' see — how long yo' all been 



way? 



66 



GOAT ALLEY 



aunt rebecca {reflectively ', as she sits,) 

Um! Um! {Puts a hand to her head.) Dat gin 
got m ah h aid all tangle up. Um! I keep tellin' 
G'orge whiskey suit me bettah — but he like gin. 
How long? Um! Um! Gawd-a-massy! Be 
two yeahs in Feb-wary! {Lucy Belle exclaims 
incredulously.) Sho' has ! I was a yeah in Cum- 
berlan' wid Sadie — she's de slim yallar one, yo' 
know — got a mole on her right cheek. Some say 
dat reason she so lucky — an' den mos' six mon's 
wid Em'ly — she dat lil' fat, brown gal. {Lucy 
Belle nods.) An' den fo' mon's in Frederick wid 
Henry. {Shaking her head proudly.) Henry a 
great big fine lookin' niggah. Am' so lucky 
dough. Bawn in de da'k ob de moon. 

LUCY BELLE 

I 'member him. I 'member seein' him w'en his 
fawther died — ole Uncle Henry. 

AUNT REBECCA {scornfully) 

Dat niggah wasn't his fawther. No indeedy! 
Dat lil' scrootchin' monkey wasn't calc'lated 
ter be de fawther ob no boy like Henry. {Lucy 
Belle gives an exclamation of surprise. Aunt Re- 
becca sits in perplexed preoccupation for several 
moments. At length she speaks slowly.) 'Deed, 
chile, I kain't seem ter 'member who Henry's 
fawther was. Dat gin got mah haid all tangle 
up. 
lucy belle {turning and moving toward Left) 
I reckon I bettah bring dat baby out yere. No 
tellin' what dem chillen liable ter do to it. 

{She hurries out, Left. In a moment or two she 
returns, carrying a very young negro baby.) 

6 7 



GOAT ALLEY 



AUNT 'REBECCA 

Yo' want me ter hoi' him? 

LUCY BELLE 

I reckon yo' might as well. (She places the baby 
in Aunt Rebecca s arms.) 

(Fanny Dorsey, a little negro girl of "eighty and 
Israel Dorsey, a little negro boy of six, run in. 
Left. Both wear nightgowns.) 

FANNY 

Mamma! Where yo' all gwine? 

ISRAEL 

Mamma! Git me some candy! 
lucy belle (harshly) 

Yo' all hush! Git right back ter bed! Go 'long! 
fanny (whimpering) 

I'se scar't ob de night doctahs. 
LUCY belle 

Hush, chile! Night doctahs ain' gwine ter git 

yo' in yere. Go 'long! (Threateningly.) Do yo' 

wan' me ter beat yo'? 

ISRAEL 

Mamma! Git me — 

(Lucy Belle grabs them roughly and pushes them 
through door. Left, closing it after them. Their 
cries are heard for several moments and then grad- 
ually ceased) 

LUCY BELLE 

Some day I'se gwine ter git good an' mad an' 
knock dere haids off! (propping into a chair 
and drawing a hand across her forhead.) I ain' 
nevah had no luck. Some gals gits by widout 
no trouble at all. I ain' one-a dem kin'. Nuffin' 
68 



GOAT ALLEY 



I evah done come out right — nuffin at all! Ef 
I starts ana' thing its boun' ter go wrong. I — 
I'se cunjuhed fer life! 

AUNT REBECCA 

Hush, chile! Don' git down in de mouf like dat! 
Yo' luck liable change any minute. Min' did 
aft ah I gits rid-a dem warts. 

LUCY BELLE 

I am' got no business wid all dese chillen. Fse 
a fool — Gawd knows I is! Am' only one niggah 
evah treated me decent. 

AUNT REBECCA 

Who dat? 

LUCY BELLE 

Sam Reed. Gawd knows he treated me right! 
An' now he's in jail! 

AUNT REBECCA 

Honey ! 

LUCY BELLE 

I loves him. He's de onliest niggah I evah did 
love! I thinks 'bout him all de time! (A mo- 
ments pause. She stares into space.) 

AUNT REBECCA 

How long he been in jail? 

LUCY BELLE 

I reckon it's been pretty near two yeahs. 
Weren't long aftah yo' lef I knows. 

AUNT REBECCA 

Is he yere? 
lucy belle {shaking her head) 

Down at Moun-'sville. He kain't write, an' so 
I don' nevah yere from him. {A moment's 
pause.) 

6 9 



GOAT ALLEY 



AUNT REBECCA (cautiously) 

What did he do? 
lucy belle (disconsolately, as she stares into space) 
Cut a man. (With feeling?) He done it fer me! 
Jim Bisbee come foolin' roun' aftah me — mos' 
alias drunk — an' one day Sam seen him — aw, 
dere wasn't nuffin' to it. Jim, he blubbered like 
a baby. He was so scar't he didn't know what 
ter do. Deed he was a sight ! 

AUNT REBECCA 

An' de ^>o-lice git him? 
lucy belle (sadly) 

Yas, indeed. (Rises slowly and takes up the 
basket?) I am* nevah gwine ter meet up wid 
anoder niggah like Sam. He's de bes' ole buddy 
in de worl' ! 

AUNT REBECCA 

How long did dey send him up fo' ? 

LUCY BELLE 

Fo' yeahs. (A silence. She moves toward door, 
Back.) 
lucy belle (at door) 

I ain' gwine ter be gone but a minute. 

(Aunt Rebecca nods. Lucy Belle passes out, Back. 
Aunt Rebecca chants in a low monotone to herself?) 

AUNT REBECCA 

Um — aum — a — um — a — um — a — um — a — 
um! Trouble in mah soul! Um — a — um — a — 
um — a — um — a — um — a! Trouble in mah soul! 
(high treble) Um — a — um — a — um — a — um — a! 

(Footsteps and someone whistling are heard off- 
stage, Back. Aunt Rebecca stops and listens. The 
door opens and "Slim" Dorsey enters, Back. He 
70 



GOAT ALLEY 



is a tally slender, light-colored \ young negro of 
about twenty-jour. He wears a cap and old rag- 
ged suit of clothes?) 

SLIM 

Hello, Aun* Becky. What yo' all doin' yere? 

AUNT REBECCA 

Mindin' de chillen fo' Lucy Belle. 

SLIM 

Whar she? 

AUNT REBECCA 

Takin' washin' roun' ter Miss Erminie. 
{Slim proceeds to roll a cigarette.) 

SLIM 

Dat gal am' no good. She'd make twict as much 
ef she was ter wuk out. 

AUNT REBECCA 

What kin' a brudder is yo'? Dat ain' no way 
ter talk. What would she do wid de chillen? 
slim {licking the cigarette) 
Ter hell wid dem. 

AUNT REBECCA 

Shame on yo' — shame on yo' — talkin' like dat! 
She doin' de bes' she kin! An' yo' all ies' lay 
roun' an* let her keep yo\ 

SLIM 

Dat's a lie! I wuks a damn sight harder den 
she do. 

AUNT REBBECA 

Where yo' wuk? 

SLIM 

On de wharf — shuckin' oysters. 

AUNT REBECCA 

Dat steady? 

7i 



GOAT ALLEY 



SLIM 

Steady in season. I fishes w'en I am* wukkin 
dere. Dat's why we move ovah yere — ter be 
handy ter de rivah. Don* yo' all go lyin' 'bout 
me livin' off Lucy Belle. 

{Aunt Rebecca glowers at him and remains silent 
for several moments?) 

aunt rebecca {suddenly to Slim and nodding 
toward Left) 

What niggah de fader dese chillen ob Lucy 
Belle's? 

SLIM 

Dat gal Fanny is Ed Cales'. {Shaking his head.) 
Gawd knows who's de fader ob de oder two. 
{A moment's silence. Slim lights the cigarette.) 

AUNT REBECCA 

She got too many children. 

SLIM 

Ain' nobody knows dat bettah den I do. No 
niggah ain' gwine ter take up wid her now. Ed 
Cales was crazy fo' ter marry her one time. 
Huh — he wouldn't look sideways at her ef he was 
ter see her in de street. 

( The wind blows and whistles through the cracks. 
Aunt Rebecca sits erect and the whites of her eyes 
show.) 

aunt rebecca {in low, frightened tones) 

Gawd — a — massy! Yo' ain' gwine ter git me — 
yo' ole hussy! 

SLIM 

What's matter? 

72 



GOAT ALLEY 



AUNT REBECCA 

Dat's Lil Mundy tryin' ter git back at me. 

slim (with a laugK) 
What fer? 

AUNT REBECCA 

Fer kickin' dat ole dog ob hern off my do' step. 

(Lucy Belle enters, Back, at this point, carrying 
the empty basket) 

aunt rebecca (exclaiming) 

Lan' sake, chile! It ain' takin' yo' long. 

LUCY BELLE 

Yo' don' see me wastin' no time on a night like 

dis. Hello, Slim. 
slim (jumping up) 

"Luce," Sam's yere! 
lucy belle (dropping the basket with a cry) 

What d' yo' mean? 

SLIM 

He's back yere in Wash'nin. 
lucy belle (with a gasp) 
Oh, Gawd! 

SLIM 

"Mink" Hall jes' tol' me. He's lookin' fo' yo'. 

LUCY BELLE 

Sam! 

SLIM 

Yas. Yo' see he done los' track of us since we 
move. 

LUCY BELLE (huskily) 

How — how did he git out so soon? 

SLIM 

Got his sentence cut short fo' bein' good. 
73 



GOAT ALLEY 



lucy belle {agitatedly) 

Does Mink Hall know whar we live? 

SLIM 

He didn\ I jes' tol' him. 
lucy belle {with a cry of anger) 

Yo' was a damn fool ter do dat — widoat comin' 
an' tellin' me! Oh! {Moves agitatedly about.) 

SLIM 

No use ter keep my mouf shet. Sam gwine ter 

find out somehow or 'nother. 
LUCY belle 

Yo' am' got no sense! Nevah did have no 

sense! Damn yo'! 
slim {moving toward door, Back) 

Keep on talkin' ef yo' wan' ter Ian' in de hos- 
pital. 
lucy belle {imploringly) 

Slim — Slim — ef — ef yo' see him duck — duck. 

I'se gwine over to Mag's fo' a few days — in de 

mawnin\ I — I don' want ter see him fo' a day 

or two. 

SLIM 

I ain' botherin' 'bout him. 

LUCY BELLE 

Slim — yo'll duck, won't yo? Won't yo' 3 honey? 

{Slim slowly nods, then turns and passes out, 
Back.) 

lucy belle {slowly removing her hat and coat) 
Oh, Gawd! I didn't have no kind-a idea Sam 
'ud git out so soon. {Rapturously.) Sam! Mah, 
Sam! {Then fearfully.) But I kain't see him 
yet awhile. 

74 



GOAT ALLEY 



AUNT REBECCA 

What's de mattah, honey? 
lucy belle {wringing her hands) 

I tol' yo' I nevah had no luck! What kin a po' 
gal like me do? Yo' — yo' see I got dat baby. 
It — it's free months ole now. Ef he sees dat — 
Oh, Gawd! 

AUNT REBECCA 

Yo' reckon — 

LUCY BELLE 

He'd kill me! Sho' as yo' bawn! Yo' see — Oh, 
Gawd! Ef he could only know what I been up 
against! I — I promised him I wouldn't look at 
a niggah while he was gone. Ef I'd a had any 
kind-a luck, nuffin' in de worl' would a made me 
break it! I loves Sam — I loves him bettah den 
anybody. He knows I does. {A moment's 
pause. Her eyes rove space.) Las' wintah I 
couldn't git nuffin' much ter do — an' Slim he 
didn't have no job — an' Chick Avery, he come 
'roun'. Chick is a barber an' makes good money. 
Him an' me went ter school togeder. {Slowly.) 
I let's him stay yere fo' a while. {A moment's 
pause, then she points at the baby.) Dat's his 
chile. 

aunt rebecca {shaking her head) 
Yo' po', po' chile! 

LUCY belle 
When Sam an' me fust met he says: "Lucy 
Belle, I don't care nuffin' at all 'bout what yo' 
done fo' I knowed yo'. Dat's all pas' an' 
some'fin' yo' an' me ain' gwine ter boder our 
haids 'bout." {She stares into space.) But den 
75 



GOAT ALLEY 



he said he'd kill me ef I evah had anything ter 
do wid anoder niggah. 

AUNT REBECCA 

Nevah min'! He am' gwine ter do nuffin' like 
dat! Don' yo' worry! 
lucy belle (smiling faintly) 
He's de onliest niggah dat evah done an'thing 
much fo' me. He done mos' eva'thing I ask 
him. Take me downtown on pay day an' buy 
me clothes. Onct him an' me was rested fo' 
gittin' drunk — an' he lies off an' takes all de 
blame hisself. (A moment's pause.) An' — an' 
yo' see he's comin' right back ter me now he's 
out. 

AUNT REBECCA 

Yas, indeed! 
lucy belle (clenching her hands) 
Oh, Gawd! 

AUNT REBECCA 

Don' yo' worry, honey! 

LUCY BELLE 

Sam nevah boder his haid 'bout oder gals — not 
since he know me. Long, long time ago he wen' 
wid ole Lizzie Gibbs. Yo' know dat hard, ole 
yallaw gal? (Aunt Rebecca nods.) De whole 
yeah fo' he wen' ter jail she keep aftah him all 
de time! Nevah did see nuffin' like it. He don' 
care no mo' fo' her den he do a rat! But I'se 
scar't a her. She'd blackguard me in a minute 
ef she thought she had some'fin on me. (Fear- 
fully.) Dat's de onliest thing I'm scar't of — is 
dat niggahs will lie an' blackguard on me! 
aunt rebecca (indicating the baby) 
Who all know yo' got dis yere chile? 
76 



GOAT ALLEY 



LUCY BELLE 

Only Slim an' Mag an' yo\ Mag's mah sister 
dat lives ovah in Anacostia. Yo' see we move 
from Carter St. ovah yere ter Goat Alley — an* 
we didn't tell nobody where we was gwine. Dat's 
why Sam cain't fin' me. 

AUNT REBECCA 

Ef I didn't have dem gran'chillen I'd keep de 
baby fo' yo\ 

LUCY BELLE 

No, no! Wouldn't wan* yo' ter do nuffin' like 
dat. 

AUNT REBECCA 

What do yo' calc'late yo' do? 
lucy belle {pacing about agitatedly) 

I don' know, I don' know! I am' done no mo' 
den oder gals — an' — an' Sam gotta fo'give me! 

(A knock sounds on the door, Back. Lucy Belle 
starts?) 

lucy belle (in a low voice to Aunt Rebecca) 
Take him in dere. (Points off, Left.) 

(Aunt Rebecca rises, carrying baby, and hurries 
out, Left.) 

lucy belle (as she disappears) 
Come in! 

(The door, Back, opens and Lizzie Gibbs enters. 
She is a large, voluptuous, loud-mouthed mulatto. 
She has straight hair and a sinister countenance. 
She wears no hat, but has a light shawl thrown 
over her shoulders.) 

lizzie (slouching in) 
Hello! 

77 



GOAT ALLEY 



lucy belle {starting back) 
Hel — hello, Lizzie. 

LIZZIE 

How is yo'? 

LUCY BELLE 

I'se all right. 

LIZZIE 

Thought I'd fin* yo' flyin' 'roun* wid yo* eyes 

popin' out-a yo' haid. 
lucy belle {with studied complacency) 

No, indeed! I don' know what yo' all talkin' 

'bout. 
lizzie {with a sarcastic laugh) 

Ha! Ha! Am' got nuffin' on yo' min', eh? 

LUCY BELLE 

Not a thing! 

LIZZIE 

A good frien' of yo's is back in town. 

LUCY BELLE 

Now yo' said some'tin*. Who ? 
lizzie (darkly) 

Dat's right — preten' yo* don* know nuffin' 'bout 
it — yo* damn little hussy! 

LUCY BELLE {hotly) 

Don' yo* call me no hussy! 
lizzie 

Don* yo' stan' up dere an* tell me yo* don* know 

Sam Reed am' home. 
lucy belle {simulating surprise) 

Sam! No! Is yo* seen him? 
lizzie {mysteriously) 

Ha! Ha! I guess he don' fergit ole friends. 
lucy belle {sharply) 

Huh! I bet he ain'! I bet yo' all I got he ain'! 
78 



GOAT ALLEY 



LIZZIE 

Yo' all got de idee yo' got some kin' of a strangle 
hoi' on Sam, ain' yo? 

LUCY BELLE 

I knows damn well he ain' gwine ter fool 'roun' 
an' ole wench like yo' ! 
lizzie {menacingly) 

Ef yo' say anything like dat agin I'll bus* yo* 
in yo* mouf. {Lucy Belle laughs.) Lemme tell 
yo', gal, I knows a thing or two 'bout yo'. 

LUCY BELLE 

Nuffin' but what yo' make up out-a yo' own 
haid. 

LIZZIE 

Gawd knows how many times I seen yo' on de 
street las' wintah wid Chick Avery. 

LUCY BELLE {quickly) 

Yo'nevah! Yo' lie! 
lizzie {with a laugh) 

Oh, yas, yo' little angel-face! Yo' nevah done 
nuffin' wrong in yo' life! {Darkly.) Lemme 
tell yo' one thing — keep yo' han's off dat niggah. 
If I yere he's been foolin' 'roun' yo' all, I'se 
gwine ter raise some hell. {She turns toward 
the door.) 

LUCY BELLE 

Yo' won't do nuffin'! 
lizzie {turning for a moment) 

Ask anybody dat knows me ef I don' alias make 
good. I'll clean up fo' yo' all! I'll fix dat face 
ob yo's so it won' nevah look de same! 

LUCY BELLE 

Yo' ain' gwine ter do nuffin'! 
79 



GOAT ALLEY 



lizzie (at the door) 
Am' I? Yo' wait an' see? I'se gwine ter make 
dat face-a yo's look like a piece-a sausage. Don* 
yo' come tryin' ter play any ob dat doll-baby 
business wid me! Ha! Ha! Yo' damn HP 
hussy, yo' ! (She passes out. Back.) 

(Lucy Belle stands gazing angrily after her. 
Presently, Aunt Rebecca enters, Left.) 

AUNT REBECCA 

Whew-me! Gawd-a-massy! Sweah out a war- 
rant fo' her! Go 'long! Don' yo' let no niggah 
blackguard yo' like dat! 

LUCY BELLE 

I'll git her mahse'f! Ef I don', Slim will. 
(Fiercely.) Some night I'll ketch her alone an' 
I'll knock her haid off! 

AUNT REBECCA 

Low down yallaw wench! 

LUCY BELLE* 

I am* gwine ter stan' fo' no niggah talkin' ter 
me like dat! (Moving agitatedly about.) 'Deed 
I ain'! What she anyway? Stuck up kase she 
got straight hair. Nevah done a lick-a wuk in 
her life. 

AUNT REBECCA 

Hush, honey! Ain' no use ter git all wukked up! 
lucy belle (with an hysterical laugh) 
Ha! Ha! She think she kin keep Sam away 
from me! I like ter see her! I like ter see her! 

AUNT REBECCA 

Nevah min'! Nevah min'! 

(A knock on the back door. Lucy Belle and Aunt 
Rebecca start.) 

80 



GOAT ALLEY 



lucy belle (calling in tremulous tones) 

Whodat? 
sam (off, Back) 

Me! 
lucy belle (with a gasp) 

It Sam! (She motions to Aunt Rebecca to leave 

the room. The latter hurries out. Left.) 

(Lucy Belle hesitates a moment, then goes to door, 
Back, and opens it. Sam Reed enters. He is a 
big, powerful negro — brown in color — of about 
thirty-five. He wears an old ragged suit of 
clothes, an old felt hat, and no collar?) 

sam (with a cry of joy) 

Gal! 
lucy belle (rushing to him) 

Sam! 
sam (taking her in his arms and smothering her with 

kisses) 

Honey baby! Honey baby! 
lucy belle (murmuring softly) 

Baby! Baby! 

SAM 

Yo' am' forgot yo' ole Sam, is yo'? 

LUCY BELLE 

No, no! Oh, Sam, Sam! Mah ole Sam-boy! 
(Clutching him tight?) Oh, I'se so glad ter see 
yoM Gawd bless yo'! 

SAM 

Honey baby! Honey baby! 

LUCY BELLE 

Ole Sam-boy! Fse so glad ter see yo'! 

SAM 

Yo' all didn't 'spec' me, did yo'? 
81 



GOAT ALLEY 



LUCY BELLE 

No, no! Didn't have no idea in de worl' I'd see 
yo' so soon! Not until jes' a minute ago! Slim 
come an* tol' me! Mink Hall tol' him. Ah, 
Sam-boy! Yo' ain' nevah gwine ter leave me 
agin, is yo' ? 

SAM 

No, indeedy ! Not unless dey takes me away in 
a box! 

LUCY BELLE 

Yo's de bes' ole baby in de worl' ! 

SAM 

Seem ter me I only had ter shet mah eyes — 
night or day — an' see yo' face. Only thinkin' 
'bout yo* kept me from killin' everybody in 
sight when I'se breakin' mah back on dem rock 
piles. Yo' don' know what kin'-a hell I been 
through, gal. Kin'-a hell dat sets a man crazy 
— 'less he's careful. 

LUCY BELLE 

I know, I know. Mus' — a been tumble — tur- 
rible. Oh, Gawd! 

SAM 

What made yo* all move? 

LUCY BELLE (quickly) 

It's nearer fo' Slim — nearer to de rivah. 

SAM 

Nobody knowed whar yo' was. 

LUCY BELLE 

No, no! We sort-a los' track of all dem ole 
niggahs ovah dere. 

SAM 

Yo' lookin' mighty thin. 



82 



GOAT ALLEY 



LUCY BELLE 

I'se been wukkin' hard, Sam. 'Tain't easy fo' 
a gal alone an' — an' wid two chillen. 

SAM 

I reckon not. Yo' po' kid! 

LUCY BELLE 

Sam — Sam-boy, le's yo' an' me go to Baltimo'. 

SAM 

Baltimo' ! 

LUCY BELLE 

Yas. Dey's mo' wuk ovah dere. Everybody 
say so. An' — an* dey pay bettah wages. 

SAM 

I don* know, honey. 

LUCY BELLE 

De po-\icQ be aftah yo' all de time. 

SAM 

No, dey won't. 

LUCY BELLE 

Dey will — yo' know dey will. Eva' time dey's a 
little trouble dey'll pick yo' up. An' — an' I ain' 
nevah had no luck in dis town. 

SAM 

I'll study 'bout if fo' awhile. 

LUCY BELLE 

Am' near de chances ter git wuk dat dere is dere. 

SAM 

What put it in yo' haid ter go dere? 

LUCY BELLE 

I wants ter git away. I gotta feelin' dat things 
am' nevah gwine right long as we stay yere. 

SAM 

Wait until de fust of de week — an' den maybe 
I'll go. 

83 



GOAT ALLEY 



LUCY BELLE 

Baby, it's bes' — I knows it is. Yo' an' me nevah 
had no luck in dis town. 

SAM 

All right, honey baby. Ef dat's what yo' wants 
to do we'll go. 
lucy belle (throwing her arms about him) 

Baby, baby! Gawd bless yo'! Mah Sam-boy! 
Mah Sam-boy! 

{Aunt Rebecca enters. Left.) 

lucy belle (breaking away from Sam) 

Oh, Aim' Becky! 
sam (rushing forward and shaking her hand) 

Aim' Becky! Glad ter see yo'! 

AUNT REBECCA 

Sam! Gawd bless yo'! 

SAM 

How yo* all been? 

AUNT REBECCA 

'Tolable! Tolable! I kain't complain. Fse 
mighty glad yo's out. 

SAM 

Fse mighty glad ter be out. 

AUNT REBECCA 

Mus' 'scuse me. I got ter git home an* cook 
some supper fo' mah ole man. 
LUCY belle 

Don' run away, Aun* Becky. 

AUNT REBECCA 

Mus', mah chile ! See yo' some mo'. 

SAM 

Good-bye. 

(Aunt Rebecca passes out, Back.) 

8 4 



GOAT ALLEY 



lucy belle {moving toward Left) 
Honey baby, 'scuse me a minute. 

SAM 

Whar yo' gwine? 
lucy belle (nodding toward Left) 
In yere. I'll be right back. 

(Sam nods. She passes out, Back. Sam moves 
slowly about the room. Presently, there is a loud 
knock on the door, Back. Sam starts toward the 
door. As he nears it, it opens and Lizzie rushes 
in.) 

iazzik (halting abruptly) 
Sam! 

SAM 

What in hell are yo* doin* yere? 
lizzi e ( ingratiatingly) 
Sam, kid — come on wid me! 

SAM 

Go 'long! Ef yo' keep foolin' 'roun' me yo's 
gwine ter git hurt. 

LIZZIE 

Sam — Sam, ole baby — what did I evah do ter 
make yo' treat me like yo' have? 

SAM 

Go 'long! D' yo' yere me? 

lizzie (her manner gradually changing) 
Yo's a damn fool fo' stickin' ter dis gal. 

sam (menacingly) 
Yo' shet up! 

LIZZIE 

She don' care nuffin' 'bout yo'! 
sam (stepping toward her) 

I bet I'll bus' yo' in de mouf. 

85 



GOAT ALLEY 



LIZZIE 

Sam — I'se gwine ter git a good job uptown — 
Monday. I'll keep yo' dis wintah, Sam. Yo* 
won' haf ter do no wuk. I don' want ter see no 
fellah like yo' git tied up wid a wench like her. 

SAM 

Git out-a yere — d' yo* yere me? 'Go long! 
lizzie (nastily) 

Yo's a great big stiff ter let a gal like her take 
yo' in! 

(The door, Left, opens slightly and Lucy Belle can 
be seen listening?) 

sam (hotly) 

Shet up! 
lizzie 

She been runnin' 'roun' wid Chick Avery — 

evah since yo' lef. Ha! Ha! 

SAM 

Dat's a lie! 

LIZZIE 

So help me Gawd, dat's de tru'f — an' I kin 
prove it! 
sam (menacingly) 
It's a lie! 

LIZZIE 

She'll bleed yo* ter deaf an' den tu'n yo' loose. 

Dat's what I'm telling yo'! 
sam (hitting her on the jaw) 

Shet up! 
lizzie (shrieking) 

Murder! Murder! Po-lice! Po-lice! Murder! 

(Sam darts out the door, Back. Lucy Belle closes 
the door, Left. Hurried footsteps are heard at 
86 



GOAT ALLEY 



Back. Lizzie glances out of window. Back, gives a 
little gasp, hesitates a moment, then darts into the 
closet, Left Back, closing the door after her. A 
policeman enters, Back.) 

policeman {calling out) 
What's the trouble here? {He stands surveying 
the room for a moment or two, then advances 
toward door, Left. The door suddenly opens and 
Lucy Belle enters.) 

policeman {gruffly) 
What's the matter? 

LUCY BELLE 

Nuffin' — nuffin' at all, sir. 

POLICEMAN 

There was so ! {Marching over to her.) Who was 
that yellin' ? 

LUCY BELLE 

I — I don , know, sir. It wasn't yere. 

POLICEMAN 

I know better! 

LUCY BELLE 

No, no! Hones' to Gawd! 

POLICEMAN 

Don't try to give me any gaff like that! {Strid- 
ing over to the door, Left.) Who's in here? 

LUCY BELLE 

Jas' mah chillen. 

{He passes in. She stands watching him. He 
re-enters in a moment.) 

policeman {moving toward Back) 

I've a good mind to lock you up anyway. 

lucy belle {With a wail) 

Oh — Oh, please, sir — I nevah done nuffin'! 

87 



GOAT ALLEY 



policeman {hesitating at the door) 
You'd better look out. I ain't goin' to stand for 
any monkey business around this neighbor- 
hood. (He passes out, Back, closing the door after 
him.) 

(Lucy Belle stands gazing after him for a moment 
or two. Eventually she turns and passes hurriedly 
out y Left. She re-enters immediately, carrying 
the baby. Fanny — in her nightgown — runs in. 

Left-) 

FANNY 

Mamma! 

LUCY BELLE 

Hush, chile! 

FANNY 

Whar yo' gwine? 

LUCY BELLE 

I'se gwine ter take de baby ovah to yo' Aun' 
Rebecca's. Yo' go right back ter bed. Go 
'long! 

(Fanny turns and runs out. Left, closing the door 
after her. Lucy Belle starts toward Back. Lizzie 
steps out from the closet.) 

So dat's yo' baby, is it? 
lucy belle (with a cry) 
Oh! Oh,mahGawd! 

LIZZIE 

I knowed I'd git yo'! Pretendin' ter be such a 
little angel! Ha! Ha! Been up ter all kin'-a 
tricks, ain' yo'? 

88 



GOAT ALLEY 



lucy belle {commanding herself) 

Git out-a yere! 
lizzie {slouching slowly toward Back) 

I got yo' numbah, now! Ha! Ha! 

LUCY BELLE 

What in hell d' yo' mean? It am' mah chile! 

LIZZIE 

Ha! Ha! Ha! Am' yo' chile! Am' yo' chile! 
Yo's a good little liah, am' yo? 
lucy belle {defiantly) 

No, it ain' — yo' blackguardin' hussy! 

LIZZIE 

Ha! Ha! It certainly do look like Chick — jes' 
'zactly. Wait until I tells Sam. He's one-a 
dem kin' dat ain' so particular. He don* min* 
accidents now an* den! Ha! Ha! {She 
slouches out> Back, laughing fiendishly,) 

{Lucy Belle stands staring to the front. Suddenly 
a look of desperation comes over her face and she 
dashes out, Back. In the course of a moment or 
two Aunt Rebecca enters, Back, and moves about 
the room.) 

AUNT REBECCA (calling) 

Lucy Belle! Oh, Lucy Belle! 
{Fanny runs in, Left.) 

FANNY 

Mamma's gone ovah to yo' house wid de baby. 

AUNT REBECCA 

Mah house! 

FANNY 

Dat what she say. 

8 9 



GOAT ALLEY 



AUNT REBECCA 

'Deed, chile, yo' all mus' been dreamin'. 
fanny (with a whimper) 

Den — den I don' know whar she is. 

AUNT REBECCA 

Yo' been dreamin\ Go 'long back ter bed. 

(Fanny reluctantly passes out y Left. Aunt Re- 
becca sits down in a chair and chants to herself.) 

AUNT REBECCA 

Devil gwine ter git yo* ! Um — a— um — a— um — 
a — um — a — um — a! Devil gwine ter git yo'! 
Um — a — um — a — um — a — um — a — um — a ! 
Devil gwine ter git yo' ! 

(Suddenly Slim rushes in, Back, wild-eyed.) 

slim (breathlessly) 
Aun' Becky! 

AUNT REBECCA 

Yas! Yas! 

SLIM 

Lucy Belle drown de baby! 
aunt rebecca (jumping up with a shriek) 

Oh! Oh, mahGawd! Oh, oh! 
slim (rapidly) 

I seen her runnin' ter de rivah an* I follows her. 

She th'u' it in an' den run in behin' dem coal 

chutes. I stop an* see ef I could save it. Wasn' 

no use 'dough — it was too dark. I believe she 

gone plum crazy. 

AUNT REBECCA 

Oh, mah Gawd! Dat po' chile! I knowed 
somefin tumble gwine ter happen! 
90 



GOAT ALLEY 



SLIM 

Come on ! Le's see ef we kin fin* her. 

{Aunt Rebecca and Slim rush out, Back. In the 
course of several moments Lucy Belle steals in y 
Back. She wears a terrified expression and moves 
agitatedly about the room, twining and intertwin- 
ing her fingers. Presently Sam enters, Back.) 

SAM 

Lucy Belle! 
lucy belle {in tremulous tones) 
Sam-boy! 

SAM 

I wasn't gwine ter take no chances. 
lucy belle {avoiding his gaze) 

No, no! Honey baby! Mah ole honey baby! 

I'se so scar't I didn't know what ter do. 
sam {darkly) 

Did yo' yere what she was tellin' me? 
lucy belle {lying) 

I yere jes' a little — 
sam {fiercely) 

She say yo' all been gwine 'roun' wid Chick 

Avery. 

LUCY BELLE 

Dat's a lie! Am' a wud of truf in dat! 
sam {grabbing her) 
Have yo' ? 

LUCY BELLE 

No, no! Sam! Fo' Gawd's sake! Yo' don' be- 
lieve a devil like her, do yo' ? 

SAM 

Ef I ketch yo' runnin' wid anybody else I'se 
gwine ter kill yo' 

9i 



GOAT ALLEY 



LUCY BELLE 

Sam-boy! Hones' to Gawd — I am* had nuffin' 
ter do wid nobody since yo' been gone! Nuffin' 
at all! 

{Lizzie enters, Back.) 

lizzie {with a cry of triumph) 
I knowed I'd git yo' numbah! 

SAM 

Git out-a yere! D' yo' want me ter kill yo'? 
lizzie 

Sam — Sam — she got-a baby! It Chick Avery's. 

It's yere! Dat's de way she treat yo' all! Ha! 

Ha! Makin' a damn fool of yo' ! I alias knowed 

yo's an easy mark! 
lucy belle {screaming) 

It's a lie! It's a lie! No, no! 

{Sam starts for Lizzie. She backs out of the door) 

lizzie {outside) 

Itol'yo'I'dgityo'! I tol' yo' I'd git yo' ! Ha! 
Ha! 

{Sam starts to rush out after her. He hesitates, 
however, and finally bangs the door shut and turns 
to Lucy Belle.) 

sam {between his teeth) 

Yo' yere what she say? 
lucy belle {palsied with fear) 

It ain' so! It's a lie! Yo' know she couldn't 

tell de truf! Yo' don' believe her, do yo'? 
sam {gruffly) 

Lemme look 'roun' yere! 
92 



GOAT ALLEY 



LUCY BELLE 

Yo' won' see nuffin'! Yo' won , see nuffin', 
Sam! 
sam {shoving her aside roughly) 
Lemme look! {Starts toward Left.) 

FANNY 

Am' nobody but Fanny an' Israel in dere! 
sam {shouting) 

Ef yo' try any funny business wid me I'll kill 
yo'! Damn yo' heart to hell! 

{He passes out, Left, followed by Lucy Belle. 
The door stands open and their voices can be 
heard?) 

LUCY BELLE {off, Left) 

See, Sam — ain' nobody but Fanny an* Israel. 
Don' wake 'em up! Jes' mah clothes, Sam-boy! 
Aw, yo' believe me — don' yo' ? Yo* don' be- 
lieve an ole hussy like her ! 
sam {savagely) 

Chick Avery been comin' yere? 

LUCY BELLE 

No, no! I swear ter Gawd he am' nevah been 
in dis house! No, no! It's all a dirty lie! See, 
Sam — see — ain' no baby 'roun' yere! Lizzie 
alias has blackguarded me — don' yo' know she 
has — evah since yo' an' me met up! She jealous 
of me ! She say anything — anything at all ter git 
back at me! 

{They re-enter. Left.) 

sam {grabbing her by the shoulder) 
Yo' has seen Chick Avery! 
93 



GOAT ALLEY 



LUCY BELLE 

No — no — I ain' — I swear ter Gawd I ain , ! Aw, 
Sam, yo' believe yo' honey baby, don* yo' ? 

(A tense pause. He stares into her face?) 

sam (at length) 

Ef she keep on blackguardin' yo' I'se gwine ter 
kill her! 

LUCY BELLE 

No, no, Sam-boy! Yo' an* me wants ter git 
away from dis town. It'll be bettah fo' us bo'f. 
We am' nevah had no luck yere! (Caressingly.) 
Bes' ole buddy in de worl' ! I wants yo' Sam, — 
jes' yo' — nuffin' else. 
sam (muttering) 

I'll clean up fo' dat gal! 

LUCY BELLE 

Yo' loves me, don* yo' — don' yo'? 
sam (impulsively takes her in his arms and holds her 
tightly) 

Kid, yo's all I got in de worlM Ef yo* fools me 
I'll tu'n bad fo' life. 

LUCY BELLE 

Sam, baby, mah ole Sam-boy baby! Am' 
nuffin' on Gawd's ear'f I wouldn' do fo' yo'! 
(Looking up into his face.) Yo' an' me's gwine 
ter Baltimo', am' we? (Sam nods.) 

SAM 

Honey baby! Honey baby! Jes* mah UP gal! 
Yo's mine — mine fo' life! 

(Aunt Rebecca rushes in excitedly. Back.) 
94 



GOAT ALLEY 



AUNT REBECCA 

Lucy Belle! Mah Gawd! Lucy Belle! Is yo' 
crazy? Dey fish him out — de baby! Oh, mah 
Gawd! 

{Lucy Belle gives a stifled cry and breaks away 
from Sam,) 

sam {exclaiming savagely) 
Baby! What d' yo' mean? 

{A tense silence of a moment or two. At length 
Sam divines her meaning. Aunt Rebecca staggers 
back> realizing what the consequences of her reve- 
lation are likely to be. Lucy Belle stands at one 
side, moaning softly. Sam rushes at Aunt Rebecca, 
hits her and knocks her out through door, Back. 
She screams. He rushes over, closes the door, and 
locks it.) 

sam {rushing at Lucy Belle) 

Damn yo' black heart to hell! {She gives an 
unearthly scream?) Yo' will double-cross me! 
Dis is de way yo* pays me up fo' all I done 
fo' yo'! 

lucy belle {dropping to her knees) 

Sam — Sam-boy — listen! Lemme tell yo'! Oh, 
Gawd! It am* — 

sam {grabbing her) 

I'll show yo' how ter play dat kin' of a game! 

luch belle {s creaming) 
Sam! Sam! 



95 



GOAT ALLEY 



SAM 

I'll fix yo'! 

{He takes her by the throat and slowly chokes her 
to death. She struggles frantically to release her- 
self. At length she grows quiet and her body limp. 
He throws her on the floor, stands gazing at her 
for a moment or two, grabs up his hat, slinks to the 
door, Back, opens it cautiously and passes out, 
closing it after him.) 

CURTAIN 



96 



SWEET AND TWENTY 

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 

by Floyd Dell 



First produced by the Provincetown Players, New York 
City, January 25, 191 8, with the following cast: 

The Young Woman, - Edna St. Vincent Millay 
The Young Man, - Ordway Tead 

The Agent, - Otto Liveright 

The Guard, .__.-- Louis Ell 



Copyright, 1921, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Sweet and Twenty is fully protected by the copyright law, all re- 
quirements of which have been complied with. No performance, 
either professional or amateur, may be given without the written 
permission of the author or his representative, the Stewart Kidd 
Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. 



Sweet and Twenty 

Scene — A corner of the cherry orchard on the coun- 
try place of the late Mr. Boggley, now on sale and 
open for inspection to prospective buyers. The 
cherry orchard, now in full bloom, is a very 
pleasant place. There is a green-painted rustic 
bench beside the path. . . . 

(This scene can be effectively produced on a small 
stage by a back-drop painted a blue-green color, with 
a single conventionalized cherry branch painted 
across it, and two three-leaved screens masking the 
wings, painted in blue -green with a spray of cherry 
blossoms). 

A young woman, dressed in a light summer frock 
and carrying a parasol, drifts in from the back. 
She sees the bench, comes over to it and sits down 
with an air of petulant weariness. 

A handsome young man enters from the right. He 
stops short in surprise on seeing the charming 
stranger who lolls upon the bench. He takes of 
his hat. ' 

he 

Oh, I beg your pardon! 

SHE 

Oh, you needn't! I've no right to be here, 
either. 

HE 

(Coming down to her) Now what do you mean 
by that? 

SHE 

I thought perhaps you were playing truant, 
as I am. 

99 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



HE 

Playing truant? 

SHE 

I was looking at the house, you know. And I 
got tired and ran away. 

HE 

Well, to tell the truth, so did L It's dull work, 
isn't it? 

SHE 

I've been upstairs and down for two hours. 
That family portrait gallery finished me. It 
was so old and gloomy and dead that I felt as 
if I were dead myself. I just had to do some- 
thing. I wanted to jab my parasol through the 
window-pane. I understood just how the suf- 
fragettes felt. But I was afraid of shocking 
the agent. He is such a meek little man, and 
he seemed to think so well of me. If I had 
broken the window I would have shattered his 
ideals of womanhood, too, I'm afraid. So I 
just slipped away quietly and came here. 

HE 

I've only been there half an hour and we — 
I've only been in the basement. That's why 
our tours of inspection didn't bring us together 
sooner. I've been cross-examining the furnace. 
Do you understand furnaces? {He sits down 
beside her) I don't. 

SHE 

Do you like family portraits? I hate 'em! 

HE 

What! Do the family portraits go with the 
house ? 

ioo 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



SHE 

No, thank heaven. They've been bequeathed 
to the Metropolitan Museum of Horrors, I un- 
derstand. They're valuable historically — early 
colonial governors and all that sort of stuff. 
But there is someone with me who — who takes 
a deep interest in such things. 

HE 

{frowning at a sudden memory) Hm. Didn't 
I see you at that real estate office in New York 
yesterday? 

SHE 

Yes. He was with me then. 

he {compassionately) 

I — I thought I remembered seeing you with-^ 
with him 

she {cheerfully) 

Isn't he just the sort of man who would be in- 
terested in family portraits? 

he {confused) 

Well — since you ask me — I — ! 

SHE 

Oh, that's all right. Tubby's a dear, in spite 
of his funny old ideas. I like him very much. 

HE 

{gulping the pill) Yes. . . . 

SHE 

He's so anxious to please me in buying this 
house. I suppose it's all right to have a house, 
but I'd like to become acquainted with it grad- 
ually. I'd like to feel that there was always 
some corner left to explore — some mystery 

IOI 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



saved up for a rainy day. Tubby can't under- 
stand that. He drags me everywhere, explain- 
ing how we'll keep this and change that — 
dormer windows here and perhaps a new wing 
there. ... I suppose you've been re- 
building the house, too? 

HE 

No. Merely decided to turn that sunny south 
room into a study. It would make a very 
pleasant place to work. But if you really want 
the place, I'd hate to take it away from you. 

SHE 

I was just going to say that if you really wanted 
it, Td withdraw. It was Tubby 's idea to buy 
it, you know — not mine. You do want it, don't 
you? 

HE 

I can't say that I do. It's so infernally big. 
But Maria thinks I ought to have it. (Ex- 
planatorily) Maria is — 
she (gently) 

She's — the one who is interested in furnaces, 
I understand. I saw her with you at the real- 
estate office yesterday. Well — furnaces are 
necessary, I suppose. (There is a pause y which 
she breaks suddenly) Do you see that bee? 

HE 

A bee ? (He follows her gaze up to a cluster of 
blossoms.) 

SHE 

Yes — there ! (Affectionately) The rascal ! There 
he goes. (Their eyes follow the flight of the bee 
across the orchard. There is a silence, in which 
1 02 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



Maria and Tubby drift into the Umbo of forgotten 
things. Alone together beneath the blossoms^ a 
spell seems to have fallen upon them. She tries to 
think of something to say — and at last succeeds.) 

SHE 

Have you heard the story of the people who 
used to live here? 

HE 

No; why? 

SHE 

An agent was telling us. It's quite romantic — 
and rather sad. You see, the man that built 
this house was in love with a girl. He was 
building it for her — as a surprise. But he had 
neglected to mention to her that he was in love 
with her. And so, in pique, she married an- 
other man, though she was really in love with 
him. The news came just when he had finished 
the house. He shut it up for a year or two, but 
eventually married someone else, and they lived 
here for ten years — most unhappily. Then 
they went abroad, and the house was sold. It 
was bought, curiously enough, by the husband 
of the girl he had been in love with. They lived 
here till they died — hating each other to the 
end, the agent says. 

HE 

It gives me the shivers. To think of that house, 
haunted by the memories of wasted love! 
Which of us, I wonder, will have to live in it? 
I don't want to. 
she {prosaically) 

Oh, don't take it so seriously as all that. If 
103 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



one can't live in a house where there's been an 
unhappy marriage, why, good heavens, where 
is one going to live? Most marriages, I fancy, 
are unhappy. 

HE 

A bitter philosophy for one so — 

SHE 

Nonsense! But listen to the rest of the story. 
The most interesting part is about this very 
orchard. 

HE 

Really! 

SHE 

Yes. This orchard, it seems, was here before 
the house was. It was part of an old farm 
where he and she — the unhappy lovers, you 
know — stopped one day, while they were out 
driving, and asked for something to eat. The 
farmer's wife was busy, but she gave them 
each a glass of milk, and told them they could 
eat all the cherries they wanted. So they 
picked a hatful of cherries, and ate them, sit- 
ting on a bench like this one. And then he fell 
in love with her. . . . 

HE 

And . . . didn't tell her so. . . . (She 
glances at him in alarm. His self-possession has 
vanished. He is pale and frightened r , but there is 
a desperate look in his eyes, as if some unknown 
power were forcing him to do something very rash. 
In short y he seems like a young man who has just 
fallen in love.) 

1 04 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



she (hastily) 

So you see this orchard is haunted, too! 

HE 

I feel it. I seem to hear the ghost of that old- 
time lover whispering to me. . . . 

she (provocatively) 

Indeed! What does he say? 

he 

He says: "I was a coward; you must be bold. 
I was silent; you must speak out." 

she (mischievously) 

That's very curious — because that old lover 
isn't dead at all. He's a baronet or something 
in England. 

he (earnestly) 

His youth is dead; and it is his youth that 
speaks to me. 

she (quickly) 

You mustn't believe all that ghosts tell you. 

HE 

Oh, but I must. For they know the folly of 
silence — the bitterness of cowardice. 

SHE 

The circumstances were — slightly — different, 
weren't they? 

he (stubbornly) 

I don't care! 
she (soberly) 

You know perfectly well it's no use. 

HE 

I can't help that! 

105 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



SHE 

Please! You simply mustn't! It's disgraceful! 

HE 

What's disgraceful? 

she {confused) 

What you are going to say. 

he (simply) 

Only that I love you. What is there disgrace- 
ful about that? It's beautiful! 

SHE 

It's wrong. 

HE 

It's inevitable. 

SHE 

Why inevitable? Can't you talk with a girl in 
a cherry orchard for half an hour without fail- 
ing in love with her? 

HE 

Not if the girl is you. 

SHE 

But why especially me? 

HE 

I don't know. Love — is a mystery. I only 
know that I was destined to love you. 

SHE 

How can you be so sure? 

HE 

Because you have changed the world for me. 
It's as though I had been groping about in the 
dark, and then — sunrise! And there's a queer 
feeling here. (He puts his hand on his heart) 
To tell the honest truth, there's a still queerer 
1 06 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's a gone 
feeling, if you must know. And my knees are 
weak. I know now why men used to fall on 
their knees when they told a girl they loved 
her; it was because they couldn't stand up. 
And there's a feeling in my feet as though I 
were walking on air. And — 
she {faintly) 
That's enough! 

HE 

And I could die for you and be glad of the 
chance. It's perfectly absurd, but it's abso- 
lutely true. I've never spoken to you before, 
and heaven knows I may never get a chance to 
speak to you again, but I'd never forgive my- 
self if I didn't say this to you now. I love 
you! love you! love you! Now tell me I'm a 
fool. Tell me to go. Anything— I've said my 
say. . . . Why don't you speak? 

SHE 

I — I've nothing to say — except — except that I 
— well — {almost inaudibly) I feel some of those 
symptoms myself. 
he {triumphantly) 
You love me! 

SHE 

I — don't know. Yes. Perhaps. 

HE 

Then kiss me! 
she {doubtfully) 

No. . . . 

HE 

Kiss me! 

107 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



she {tormentedly) 
Oh, what's the use? 

HE 

I don't know. I don't care. I only know that 
we love each other. 

SHE 

{after a momenfs hesitation, desperately) I don't 
care, either! I do want to kiss you. {She does. 
. . . He is the first to awake from the ecstasy.) 

HE 

It is wicked — 
she {absently) 
Is it? 

HE 

But, oh heaven! kiss me again! {She does.) 

SHE 

Darling! 

HE 

Do you suppose anyone is likely to come this 
way? 

SHE 

No. 
he {speculatively) Your husband is probably still 
in the portrait gallery. . . . 

SHE 

My husband! {Drawing away) What do you 
mean? {Thoroughly awake now) You didn't 
think — ? {She jumps up and laughs convul- 
sively) He thought poor old Tubby was my 
husband!! 

HE 

{staring up at her bewildered) Why, isn't he 
your husband? 

1 08 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



she {scornfully) 
No!! He's my uncle! 

HE 

Your unc — 

SHE 

Yes, of course ! {Indignantly) Do you suppose 
I would be married to a man that's fat and bald 
and forty years old? 
he {distressed) 

I — I beg your pardon. I did think so. 

SHE 

Just because you saw me with him? How 
ridiculous ! 

HE 

It was a silly mistake. But — the things you said ! 
You spoke so — realistically — about marriage. 

SHE 

It was your marriage I was speaking about. 
{With hasty compunction) Oh, I beg your — 

HE 

My marriage ! {He rises) Good heavens ! And 
to whom, pray, did you think I was married? 
{A light dawning) To Maria? Why, Maria is 
my aunt! 

SHE 

Yes — of course. How stupid of me. 

HE 

Let's get this straight. Are you married to 
anybody? 

SHE 

Certainly not. As if I would let anybody make 
love to me if I were! 

109 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



HE 

Now don't put on airs. You did something 
quite as improper. You kissed a married man. 

SHE 

I didn't. 

HE 

It's the same thing. You thought I was married. 

SHE 

But you aren't. 

HE 

No. I'm not married. And — and — you're not 
married. (The logic of the situation striking him 
all of a sudden) In fact — ! (He pauses, rather 
alarmed.) 

SHE 

Yes? 

HE 

In fact — well — there's no reason in the world 
why we shouldn't make love to each other! 

SHE 

(equally startled) Why — that's so! 

HE 

Then — then — shall we? 

SHE 

(sitting down and looking demurely at her toes) 
Oh, not if you don't want to! 

HE 

(adjusting himself to the situation) Well — under 
the circumstances — I suppose I ought to begin 
by asking you to marry me. . . . 

SHE 

(languidly, with a provoking glance) You don't 
seem very anxious to. 

no 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



HE 

{feeling at a disadvantage) It isn't that — but — 
well — 
she {lightly) 
Well what? 

HE 

Dash it all, I don't know your name! 

SHE 

{looking at him with wild curiosity) That didn't 

seem to stop you a while ago. . . . 
he {doggedly) 

Well, then — will you marry me? 
she {promptly) 

No. 
he {surprised) 

No! Why do you say that? 
she {coolly) 

Why should I marry you? I know nothing 

about you. I've known you for less than an 

hour. 
he {sardonically) 

That fact didn't seem to keep you from kissing 

me. 

SHE 

Besides — I don't like the way you go about it. 
If you'd propose the same way you made love 
to me, maybe I'd accept you. 

HE 

All right, {propping on one knee before her) 
Beloved! {An awkward pause) No, I can't do 
it. {He gets up and distractedly dusts off his 
knees with his handkerchief) I'm very sorry. 

8 III 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



SHE 

(with calm inquiry) Perhaps it's because you 

don't love me any more? 
he (fretfully) 

Of course I love you ! 
she (coldly) 

But you don't want to marry me. ... I 

see. 
he 

Not at all! I do want to marry you. But — 

SHE 

Well? 

HE 

Marriage is a serious matter. Now don't take 
offense! I only meant that — well — (He starts 
again) We are in love with each other, and 
that's the important thing. But, as you said, 
we don't know each other. I've no doubt that 
when we get acquainted we will like each other 
better still. But we've got to get acquainted 
first. 
she (rising) 

You're just like Tubby buying a house. You 
want to know all about it. Well! I warn you 
that you'll never know all about me. So you 
needn't try. 

he (apologetically) 

It was your suggestion. 

she (impatiently) 

Oh, all right! Go ahead and cross-examine me 
if you like. I'll tell you to begin with that I'm 
perfectly healthy, and that there's no T. B., 
112 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



insanity, or Socialism in my family. What else 
do you want to know? 
he (hesitantly) 

Why did you put Socialism in ? 

SHE 

Oh, just for fun. You aren't a Socialist, are 
you? 

HE 

Yes. (Earnestly) Do you know what Socialism 
is? 

she (innocently) 

It's the same thing as Anarchy, isn't it? 

he (gently) 

No. At least not my kind. I believe in mu- 
nicipal ownership of street cars, and all that 
sort of thing. I'll give you some books to read 

SHE 

Well, I never ride in street cars, so I don't care 
whether they're municipally owned or not. By 
the way, do you dance? 

HE 

No. 

SHE 

You must learn right away. I can't bother to 
teach you myself, but I know where you can 
get private lessons and become really good in 
a month. It is stupid not to be able to 
dance. 

HE 

(as if he had tasted quinine) I can see myself 
doing the tango! Grr! 

SHE 

The tango went out long ago, my dear, 
113 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



HE 

{with great decision) Well — I wont learn to 
dance. You might as well know that to begin 
with. 

SHE 

And I won't read your old books on Socialism. 
You might as well know that to begin with! 

HE 

Come, come! This will never do. You see, 
my dear, it's simply that I cant dance, and 
there's no use for me to try to learn. 

SHE 

Anybody can learn. IVe made expert dancers 
out of the awkwardest men! 

HE 

But, you see, IVe no inclination toward danc- 
ing. It's out of my world. 

SHE 

And IVe no inclination toward municipal owner- 
ship. It's out of my world! 

HE 

It ought not to be out of the world of any in- 
telligent person. 

SHE 

{turning her back on him) All right — if you want 
to call me stupid! 

HE 

{turning and looking away meditatively) It ap- 
pears that we have very few tastes in common. 

SHE 

{tapping her foot) So it seems. 

HE 

If we married we might be happy for a month — 
114 



SWEET AND TWENTY 

SHE 

Perhaps. {They remain standing with their backs 
to each other?) 

HE 

And then — the old story. Quarrels. . . . 

SHE 

I never could bear quarrels. . . . 

HE 

An unhappy marriage. . . . 

SHE 

{realizing it) Oh! 

HE 

{hopelessly turning toward her) I can' t marry you. 

SHE 

{recovering quickly and facing him with a smile) 
Nobody asked you, sir, she said! 

HE 

{with a gesture of finality) Well — there seems 

to be no more to say. 
she {sweetly) 

Except good-bye. 
he {firmly) 

Good-bye, then. {He holds out his hand?) 

SHE 

{taking it) Good-bye! 

HE 

{taking her other hand — after a pause, helplessly) 
Good-bye ! 

SHE 

{drawing in his eyes) Good-bye! {They cling 
to each other, and are presently lost in a pas- 
sionate embrace. He breaks loose and stamps 
away, then turns to her.) 

"5 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



HE 

Damn it all, we do love each other! 

SHE 

{wiping her eyes) What a pity that is the only 
taste we have in common! 

HE 

Do you suppose that is enough? 

SHE 

I wish it were! 

HE 

A month of happiness — 

SHE 

Yes! 

HE 

And then — wretchedness. 

SHE 

No — never! 

HE 

We mustn't do it. 

SHE 

I suppose not. 

HE 

Come, let us control ourselves. 

SHE 

Yes, let's. {They take hands again.) 

HE 

{with an effort) I wish you happiness. I — I'll 
go to Europe for a year. Try to forget me. 

SHE 

I shall be married when you get back — perhaps. 

HE 

I hope it's somebody that's not bald and fat 
and forty. Otherwise — ! 
116 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



SHE 

And you — for goodness sake! marry a girl that's 
very young and very, very pretty. That will help. 

HE 

We mustn't prolong this. If we stay together 
another minute — 

SHE 

Then go! 

HE 

I can't go! 

SHE 

You must, darling! You must! 

HE 

Oh, if somebody would only come along! (They 
are leaning toward each other, dizzy upon the 
brink of another kiss, when somebody does come — 
a short, mild-looking man in a Derby hat. There 
is an odd gleam in his eyes). 

the intruder (startled) 

Excuse me! (They turn and stare at him y but 

their hands cling fast to each other.) 
she (faintly) 

The Agent! 

THE AGENT 

(in despairing accents) Too late ! Too late ! 

THE YOUNG MAN 

No! Just in time! 

THE AGENT 

Too late, I say! I will go. (He turns.) 

THE YOUNG MAN 

No! Stay! 

117 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



THE AGENT 

What's the use? It has already begun. What 
good can I do now? 

THE YOUNG MAN 

I'll show you what good you can do now. Come 
here! {The Agent approaches) Can you un- 
loose my hands from those of this young woman ? 

THE YOUNG WOMAN 

{haughtily releasing herself and walking away) 
You needn't trouble! I can do it myself. 

THE YOUNG MAN 

Thank you. It was utterly beyond my power. 
{To the Agent) Will you kindly take hold of 
me and move me over there? {The Agent propels 
him away from the girl) Thank you. At this 
distance I can perhaps make my farewell in a 
seemly and innocuous manner. 

THE AGENT 

Young man, you will not say farewell to that 
young lady for ten days — and perhaps never! 

THE YOUNG WOMAN 

What! 

THE AGENT 

They have arranged it all. 

THE YOUNG MAN 

Who has arranged what? 

THE AGENT 

Your aunt, Miss Brooke — and {to the young 
woman) your uncle, Mr. Egerton — {The young 
people turn and stare at each other in amazement^) 

THE YOUNG MAN 

Egerton! Are you Helen Egerton? 
118 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



HELEN 

And are you George Brooke? 

THE AGENT 

Your aunt and uncle have just discovered each 
other up at the house, and they have arranged 
for you all to take dinner together to-night, and 
then go to a ten-day house-party at Mr. Eger- 
ton's place on Long Island. {Grimly) The 
reason of all this will be plain to you. They 
want you two to get married. 

GEORGE 

Then we're done for! We'll have to get mar- 
ried now whether we want to or not! 

HELEN 

What! Just to please them? I shan't do it! 
george {gloomily) 

You don't know my Aunt Maria. 

HELEN 

And Tubby will try to bully me, I suppose. 
But I won't do it — no matter what he says! 

THE AGENT 

Pardon what may seem an impertinence, Miss; 

but is it really true that you don't want to marry 

this young man? 
helen {flaming) 

I suppose because you saw me in his arms — ! 

Oh, I want to, all right, but — 
the agent {mildly) 

Then what seems to be the trouble ? 

HELEN 

I — oh, you explain to him, George. {She goes 
to the bench and sits down?) 
119 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



GEORGE 

Well, it's this way. As you may have deduced 
from what you saw, we are madly in love with 
each other — 

HELEN 

{from the bench) But I'm not madly in love 
with municipal ownership. That's the chief 
difficulty. 

GEORGE 

No, the chief difficulty is that I refuse to enter- 
tain even a platonic affection for the tango. 
helen {irritably) 

I told you the tango had gone out long ago! 

GEORGE 

Well, then, the maxixe. 

HELEN 

Stupid! 

GEORGE 

And there you have it! No doubt it seems 
ridiculous to you. 
the agent {gravely) 

Not at all, my boy. I've known marriage to 
go to smash on far less than that. When you 
come to think of it, a taste for dancing and a 
taste for municipal ownership stand at the two 
ends of the earth away from each other. They 
represent two different ways of taking life. 
And if two people who live in the same house 
can't agree on those two things, they'd disagree 
on ten thousand things that came up every day. 
And what's the use for two different kinds of 
beings to try to live together? It doesn't work, 
1 20 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



no matter how much love there is between 
them. 

GEORGE 

{rushing up to him in surprise and gratification, 
and shaking his hand warmly) Then you're 
our friend. You will help us not to get married! 

THE AGENT 

Your aunt is very set on it — and your uncle, 
too, Miss! 

HELEN 

We must find some way to get out of it, or 
they'll have us cooped up together in that 
house before we know it. {Rising and coming 
over to the Agent) Can't you think up some 
scheme? 

THE AGENT 

Perhaps I can, and perhaps I can't. I'm a 
bachelor myself, Miss, and that means that 
I've thought up many a scheme to get out of 
marriage myself. 

helen {outraged) 
You old scoundrel! 

THE agent 

Oh, it's not so bad as you may think, Miss. 
I've always gone through the marriage cere- 
mony to please them. But that's not what I 
call marriage. 

GEORGE 

Then what do you call marriage? 

HELEN 

Yes, I'd like to know! 
121 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



THE AGENT 

Marriage, my young friends, is an iniquitous 
arrangement devised by the Devil himself for 
driving all the love out of the hearts of lovers. 
They start out as much in love with each other 
as you two are to-day, and they end by being 
as sick of the sight of each other as you two will 
be twenty years hence if I don't find a way of 
saving you alive out of the Devil's own trap. 
It's not lack of love that's the trouble with mar- 
riage — it's marriage itself. And when I say 
marriage, I don't mean promising to love, 
honor, and obey, for richer, for poorer, in sick- 
ness and in health till death do you part — 
that's only human nature to wish and to at- 
tempt. And it might be done if it weren't for 
the iniquitous arrangement of marriage. 

GEORGE {pUZzled) 

But what is the iniquitous arrangement? 

THE AGENT 

Ah, that's the trouble! If I tell you, you won't 
believe me. You'll go ahead and try it out, 
and find out what all the unhappy ones have 
found out before you. Listen to me, my chil- 
dren. Did you ever go on a picnic? {He looks 
from one to the other — they stand astonished and 
silent) Of course you have. Everyone has. 
There is an instinct in us which makes us go 
back to the ways of our savage ancestors — to 
gather about a fire in the forest, to cook meat 
on a pointed stick, and eat it with our fingers. 
But how many books would you write, young 
man, if you had to go back to the camp-fire 

122 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



every day for your lunch ? And how many new 
dances would you invent if you lived eternally 
in the picnic stage of civilization? No! the 
picnic is incompatible with everyday living. 
As incompatible as marriage. 

GEORGE 

But— 

HELEN 

But— 

THE AGENT 

Marriage is the nest-building instinct, turned 
by the Devil himself into an institution to hold 
the human soul in chains. The whole story of 
marriage is told in the old riddle: "Why do 
birds in their nests agree? Because if they 
don't, they'll fall out." That's it. Marriage 
is a nest so small that there is no room in it for 
disagreement. Now it may be all right for birds 
to agree, but human beings are not built that 
way. They disagree, and home becomes a little 
hell. Or else they do agree, at the expense of 
the soul's freedom stifled in one or both. 

HELEN 

Yes, but tell me — 

GEORGE 

Ssh! 

THE AGENT 

Yet there is the nest-building instinct. You 
feel it, both of you. If you don't now, you will 
as soon as you are married. If you are fools, 
you will try to live all your lives in a love-nest; 
and you will imprison your souls within it, and 
the Devil will laugh. 

123 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



HELEN 

(to George) I am beginning to be afraid of him. 

GEORGE 

So am I. 

THE AGENT 

If you are wise, you will build yourselves a 
little nest secretly in the woods, away from 
civilization, and you will run away together to 
that nest whenever you are in the mood. A 
nest so small that it will hold only two beings 
and one thought — the thought of love. And 
then you will come back refreshed to civiliza- 
tion, where every soul is different from every 
other soul — you will let each other alone, forget 
each other, and do your own work in peace. 
Do you understand? 

HELEN 

He means we should occupy separate sides of 
the house, I think. Or else that we should live 
apart and only see each other on week-ends. 
I'm not sure which. 
the agent (passionately) 

I mean that you should not stifle love with 
civilization, nor encumber civilization with love. 
What have they to do with each other? You 
think you want a fellow student of economics. 
You are wrong. You think you want a dancing 
partner. You are mistaken. You want a 
revelation of the glory of the universe. 

HELEN 

(to George ', confidentially) It's blithering non- 
sense, of course. But it was something like 
that — a while ago. 

124 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



george {bewilder edly) 

Yes; when we knew it was our first kiss and 

thought it was to be our last. 
the agent {fiercely) 

A kiss is always the first kiss and the last — or 

it is nothing. 
helen {conclusively) 

He's quite mad. 

GEORGE 

Absolutely. 

THE AGENT 

Mad ? Of course I am mad. But — {He turns 
suddenly •, and subsides as a man in a guard's 
uniform enters?) 

THE GUARD 

Ah, here you are! Thought you'd given us 
the slip, did you? {To the others) Escaped 
from the Asylum, he did, a week ago, and got a 
job here. We've been huntin' him high and 
low. Come along now! 

GEORGE 

{recovering with difficulty the power of speech) 
What — what's the matter with him? 

GUARD 

Matter with him? He went crazy, he did, 
readin' the works of Bernard Shaw. And if he 
wasn't in the insane asylum he'd be in jail. He's 
a bigamist, he is. He married fourteen women. 
But none of 'em would go on the witness stand 
against him. Said he was an ideal husband, 
they did. Fourteen of 'em ! But otherwise he's 
perfectly harmless. Come now! 
125 



SWEET AND TWENTY 



the agent {pleasantly) 

Perfectly harmless! Yes, perfectly harmless! 
(He is led out.) 

HELEN 

That explains it all! 

GEORGE 

Yes — and yet I feel there was something in 
what he was saying. 

HELEN 

Well — are we going to get married or not? 
We've got to decide that before we face my 
uncle and your aunt. 

GEORGE 

Of course we'll get married. You have your 
work and I mine, and — 

HELEN 

Well, if we do, then you can't have that sunny 
south room for a study. I want it for the 
nursery. 

GEORGE 

The nursery! 

HELEN 

Yes; babies, you know! 

GEORGE 

Good heavens! 



[curtain] 



126 



TICKLESS TIME 

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 

by Susan Glaspell and George Cram Cook 



First performed by the Provinceiown Players, New York, 
December 20, 191 8, with the following cast: 

Ian Joyce, Who Has Made a Sun-dial, James Light 

Eloise Joyce, Wedded to the Sun-dial, Norma Millay 
Mrs. Stubbs, a Native, Jean Robb 

Eddy Knight, a Standardized Mind, Hutchinson Collins 
Alice Knight, a Standardized Wife, Alice MacDougal 
Annie, Who Cooks by the Joyces' Clock, 

Edna St. Vincent Millay 



Copyright, 1920, by SMALL, MAYNARD & CO. 

Production of this play must not be made except by written 

permission of the authors, who may be addressed in care of 

Small, Maynard & Company, Boston, Mass. 



TICKLESS TIME 

scene: 

A garden in Provincetown. On the spectators 
right a two-story house runs back from the pros- 
cenium — a door towards the front, a second-story 
window towards the back. Across the back runs 
a thick-set row of sunflowers nearly concealing 
a fence or wall. Back of this are trees and sky. 
There is a gate at the left rear corner of the garden. 
People entering it come straight toward the front \ 
down the left side and, to reach the house door, 
pass across the front of the stage. A fence with 
sunflowers like that at the back closes off the left 
wing of the stage — a tree behind this left fence. 

The sun-dial stands on a broad step or pedestal 
which partly masks the digging which takes place 
behind it. The position of the sun-dial is to the 
left of the center of the stage midway between front 
and back. 

From behind the tree on the left the late 
afternoon sun throws a well-defined 
beam of light upon the horizontal plate 
of the sun-dial and upon the shaft 
which supports it. On this shaft is 
the accompanying diagram: two feet 
high and clearly visible. On the plate 
of the sun-dial stands the alarm clock. 
A huge shovel leans against the wall of the house- 
corner at the back. 

Ian is at the sun-dial. He sights over the style to 
some distant stake left rear, marking the north. He 
then sights over the east and left line toward the six 
129 



JAN ^ 


*) 


mar K y 


* PI< /./ 


■» ::(:::: 


JUN ,\ 


na — ;& — 


AUG Ay 


SEP V/ 


OCT-ty' 


NOVjfl 


DK _^,___ 





TICKLESS TIME 



o'clock sun. Looks at shadow. Looks at alarm 
clock. Is intensely pleased. 

ian (turning toward the house and calling ex- 
citedly) 
Eloise! Oh, Eloise! 

eloise {inside house) 
Hello! 

IAN 

Come quick! You'll miss it. 
eloise (poking her head out of the second-story 
window; she cranes her neck to look straight up 
in the air.) 
What is it? 

IAN 

Come down here quick or you'll miss it. 
eloise (disappears from window. A moment later 

comes running out y one braid of hair up and one 

braid down. Again looks wildly up in the air.) 

Where is it? 
ian (absorbed in the sun-dial) 

Where's what? 
eloise 

The airplane. 

IAN 

Airplane? It's the sun-dial. It's right. Just 
look at this six-o'clock shadow. (She goes around 
to the other side of it.) It's absolutely, mathe- 
matically — you're in the way of the sun, Eloise. 
(She steps aside.) Look! the style is set square 
on the true north — this is the fifteenth of June 
— the clock is checked to the second by telegraph 
with the observatory at Washington, and see! 
130 



TICKLESS TIME 



the clock is exactly nineteen minutes and twenty 
seconds behind the shadow — the precise differ- 
ence between Provincetown local time and 
standard Eastern time. 

ELOISE 

Then the sun-dial's really finished — and working 
right! After all these words! Oh, Ian! {She 
embraces him.) 

IAN 

It's good to get it right after all those mistakes. 
{With vision.) Why, Eloise, getting this right 
has been a symbol of man's whole search for 
truth — the discovery and correction of error — 
the mind compelled to conform step by step to 
astronomical fact — to truth. 
eloise {going to it again) 

And to think that it's the sun-dial which is true 
and the clock — all the clocks — are wrong! I'm 
glad it is true. Alice Knight has been here 
talking to me for an hour. I want to think that 
something's true. 

IAN 

That's just it, Eloise. The sun-dial is more than 
sun-dial. It's a first-hand relation with truth. 
A personal relation. When you take your time 
from a clock you are mechanically getting in- 
formation from a machine. You're nothing but 
a clock yourself. 

ELOISE 

Like Alice Knight. 

IAN 

But the sun-dial — this shadow is an original 
document — a scholar's source. 
131 



TICKLESS TIME 



ELOISE 

To tell time by the shadow of the sun — so large 
and simple. 

IAN 

I wouldn't call it simple. Here on this diagram 
I have worked out — 

ELOISE 

Dearest, you know I can't understand diagrams. 
But I get the feeling of it, Ian — the sun, the 
North star. I love to think that this {placing 
her hands on the style) is set by the North star. 
(Her right hand remains on the style, her left 
prolongs its line heavenward.) Why, if I could 
go on long enough I'd get to the North star! 

ian (impressively) 

The line that passes along the edge of this style 
joins the two poles of the heavens. (Eloise pulls 
away her hand as one who fears an electric shock.) 
Look at this slow shadow, and what you see is 
the spin of the earth on its axis. It is not so 
much the measure of time, as time itself made 
visible. 

eloise (knitting her brows to get this — escaping 
to an impetuous generality) 

Ian, which do you think is the more wonder- 
ful — space or time? 

ian (again sighting over his east and west lines. 
Good-humor edly) 
Both are a little large for our approbation. 

eloise (sitting on the steps and putting up the other 
braid) 

Do you know, Ian, that's the one thing about 
them I don't quite like. You can't get very 
intimate with them, can you? They make you 
132 



TICKLESS TIME 



so humble. That's one nice thing about a clock. 
A clock is sometimes wrong. 

IAN 

Don't you want to live in a first-hand relation 
to truth? 

ELOISE 

Yes; yes, I do — generally. 

IAN 

I have a feeling as of having touched vast forces. 
To work directly with worlds — it lifts me out of 
that little routine of our lives which is itself a 
clock. 
eloise (catching his exultation) 
Let us be like this ! Let us have done with clocks ! 

IAN 

Eloise, how wonderful! Can the clocks and 
live by the sun-dial? Live by the non-auto- 
matic sun-dial — as a pledge that we ourselves 
refuse to be automatons! 

ELOISE 

Like Alice Knight. (She takes clock from dial 
and puts it face downward on the ground.) I 
shall never again have anything to do with 
a clock! 

IAN 

Eloise! How corking of you! I didn't think 
you had it in you. (Raising his right hand.) 
Do you solemnly swear to live by the truth, the 
whole truth, and nothing but the truth? 
eloise (her hand upon the sun-dial) 
I swear. 

IAN 

Bring them! 

133 



TICKLESS TIME 



ELOISE 

Bring — ? 

IAN 

The clocks! Bring them! {Seizes the spade over 
by the house; begins to dig a grave behind the sun- 
dial^) Bring every one! We will bury the clocks 
before the sun-dial — an offering, a living sac- 
rifice. I tell you this is great, Eloise. What is 
a clock? Something agreed upon and arbitrarily 
imposed upon us. Standard time. Not true 
time. Symbolizing the whole standardization 
of our lives. Clocks ! Why, it is clockiness that 
makes America mechanical and mean! Clock- 
minded! A clock is a little machine that shuts 
us out from the wonder of time. {A large ges- 
ture with the shovel.) Who thinks of spinning 
worlds when looking at a clock? How dare 
clocks do this to us ? But the sun-dial — because 
there was creation, because there are worlds out- 
side our world, because space is rhythm and 
time is flow that shadow falls precisely there and 
not elsewhere! Bring them, Eloise! I am dig- 
ging the graves of the clocks ! 

{Eloise, swept up by this ecstasy, yet frightened 
at what it is bringing her to, hesitates, then runs 
to house. Ian digs with rhythmic vigor. A mo- 
ment later Eloise is seen peering down at him from 
window, in her arms a cuckoo clock. It begins to 
cuckoo, startling Eloise?) 

IAN 

That damned cuckoo! 

{A moment later Eloise comes out, bearing 
a cuckoo clock and an old-fashioned clock. Ian y s 
*34 



TICKLESS TIME 



back is to her; she has to pass the alarm clock, 
lying where she left it, prone on the ground. She 
hesitates, then carefully holding the other two 
clocks in one arm, she stealthily goes rear and puts 
the alarm clock behind the sunflowers. Then ad- 
vances with the other two.) 

ian (while digging) 

Into these graves go all that is clocklike in our 
minds. All that a clock world has made of 
us lies buried here! 

(Eloise stands rather appalled at the idea of so 
much of herself going into a grave. Puts the old- 
fashioned clock carefully on the ground. Gingerly 
fits the cuckoo clock into the completed grave. With 
an exclamation of horror lifts it out of the grave. 
Listens to its tick. Puts her ear to the sun-dial; 
listens vainly?) 

ELOISE 

The sun-dial doesn't tick, does it, Ian? 

IAN 

Why should it tick? 

ELOISE 

Do you know, Ian, I (timidly) — I like to hear the 
ticking of a clock. (No reply. Eloise holds up 
the cuckoo clock.) This was a wedding present. 

IAN 

No wonder marriage fails. (He moves to take 
it from her.) 

ELOISE 

I wonder if we hadn't better leave the cuckoo 
until tomorrow. 

IAN 

Flaming worlds! A cuckoo! 
135 



TICKLESS TIME 



ELOISE 

Eddie and Alice gave us the cuckoo. You know 
they're coming back. I asked them for dinner. 
They might not understand our burying their 
clock. 

IAN 

Their failure to understand need not limit our 
lives. {Puts the cuckoo clock in its grave and be- 
gins to cover it.) 

eloise (as the earth goes on) 

I liked the cuckoo! I liked to see him popping 
out! 

ian (kindly) 

You will grow, Eloise. You will go out to large 
things now that you have done with small 
ones. 

ELOISE 

I hope so. It will be hard on me if I don't. 
(Ian reaches for the other clock.) 

eloise (snatching it) 
Oh, Ian, I don't think I ought to bury this one. 
It's the clock my grandmother started house- 
keeping with! 

ian (firmly taking clock) 

And see what it did to her. Meticulous old 
woman ! (Puts it in its grave.) 

ELOISE 

You were glad enough to get her pies and buck- 
wheat cakes. 

IAN 

She had all the small virtues. But a standard- 
ized mind. (Trampling down the grave.) She 
lacked scope. And now — a little grave for 
136 



TICKLESS TIME 



little clocks. {Takes out his watch, puts it in its 
graved) Your watch, Eloise. 
eloise (holding to her wrist watch) 

I thought I'd keep my watch, Ian. {Hastily,) 
For an ornament, you know. 

IAN 

We are going to let truth be your ornament, 
Eloise. 

ELOISE 

Nobody sees the truth. {With afresh outburst.) 
This watch is my graduation present! 

IAN 

Symbolizing all the standardized arbitrary 
things you were taught! Commemorating the 
clocklike way your mind was made to run. 
Free yourself of that watch, Eloise. {Eloise 
reluctantly frees herself. Ian briskly covers the 
watches. Moves to the unfilled grave.) Is there 
nothing for this grave? {Eloise shakes her head.) 
Sure — the alarm clock! 
eloise {running to the sunflowers and spreading 
out her skirts before them.) 

Oh, Ian, not the alarm clock! How would we 
ever go to Boston ? The train doesn't run by the 
sun. 

IAN 

Then the train is wrong. 

ELOISE 

But, Ian, if the train is wrong we have to be 
wrong to catch the train. 

IAN 

That's civilization. {Stands resolutely by the 
grave.) The alarm clock, Eloise. The grave 
awaits it. 

137 



TICKLESS TIME 



eloise {taking it up, her arms folded around it) 
I wanted to go to Boston and buy a hat! 

IAN 

The sun will fall upon your dear head and give 
you life. 
eloise {about to cry) 

But no style! It ticks so loud and sure! 

IAN 

All false things are loud and sure. 

ELOISE 

I need a tick! I am afraid of tickless time! 

{Holding the clock in both hands she places it 

against her left ear.) 
ian {spade still in his right hand, he places his left 

arm around her reassuringly) 

You will grow, Eloise. You are growing. 

(He takes the clock as he is saying this. She 

turns her head backward following the departing 

clock with surprised and helpless eyes. Dis- 
consolately watches him bury it.) 
eloise (an inspiration) 

Ian! Couldn't you fix the sun-dial to be set 

and go off? 
ian (pained) 

"Set and go off?" (Pause; regards the sun.) 

Sine sole silio. 

ELOISE 

What did you say, Ian? 

IAN 

I said: Sine sole silio. 

ELOISE 

Well, I don't know what you say when you say 
that. 

138 



TICKLESS TIME 



IAN 

It's a Latin motto I've just thought of for the 
sun-dial. It means, "Without sun, I am silent." 
Silence is a great virtue. {Having finished the 
grave, he looks around, making sure there are no 
more clocks. Joyously.) Now we are freed! 
Eloise, think what life is going to be! Done 
with approximations. Done with machine 
thinking. In a world content with false time, 
we are true. 

eloise {sitting on the steps) 

Yes, it's beautiful. I want to be true. It's 
just that it's a little hard to be true in a false 
world. For instance, tomorrow I have an ap- 
pointment with the dentist. If I come on sun- 
time, I suppose I'll be twenty minutes — 

ian {eagerly. Going to the sun-dial and pointing) 
If you will just let me explain this table — 
{Eloise shrinks back. Ian gives it up.) Oh, 
well, tell him you are living by the truth. 

ELOISE 

I'm afraid he'll charge me for it. And when we 
ask people for dinner at seven, they'll get here at 
twenty minutes of seven. Or will it be twenty 
minutes after seven? 
ian {smoothing down the graves) 
It will be a part of eternal time. 

ELOISE 

Yes — that's true. Only the roast isn't so eternal. 
Why do they have clocks wrong? 

IAN 

Oh, Eloise, I've explained it so many times. You 
— living in Provincetown, three hundred miles 
to the eastward, are living by the mean solar 
139 



TICKLESS TIME 



time of Philadelphia. {Venomously^) Do you 
want to live by the mean solar time of Philadel- 
phia? 

ELOISE 

Certainly not. {An idea?) Then has Phila- 
delphia got the right time? 

IAN 

It's right six miles this side of Philadelphia. 

ELOISE 

We might move to Philadelphia. 

{Enter, through gate y Mrs. Stubbs y a Province- 
town "native") 

MRS. STUBBS 

Now, Mr. Joyce, this sun clock — is it running? 

IAN 

It doesn't "run," Mrs. Stubbs. It is acted upon. 

MRS. STUBBS 

Oh ? Well, is it being acted upon ? 

IAN 

As surely as the sun shines. 
mrs. stubbs {looking at the sun) 

And it is shining today, isn't it? Well, will 

you tell me the time? My clock has stopped 

and I want to set it. 
ian {happily) 

You hear, Eloise? Her clock has stopped. 

MRS. STUBBS 

Yes, I forgot to wind it. 
eloise {grieved to think of any one living in such 
a world) 
Wind it! 

IAN 

Do you not see, Mrs. Stubbs, where the shadow 
140 



TICKLESS TIME 



falls? {She comes up the steps.) From its mil- 
lions of spinn — You're in the way of the sun, 
Mrs. Stubbs. {She steps aside.) Its millions of 
spinning miles, the sun casts that shadow and 
here we know that it is eight minutes past six. 

MRS, STUBBS 

Now, ain't that wonderful? Dear, dear, I 
wish Mr. Stubbs could make a sun clock. But 
he's not handy around the house. Past six. 
Well, I must hurry back. They work tonight 
at the cold storage but Mr. Stubbs gets home 
for his supper at half past six. {Starts away, 
reaching the gate) 

eloise {running to her) 
Oh, Mrs. Stubbs! Don't get his supper by sun 
time. It wouldn't be ready. It — {with a 
hesitant look at Ian) might get cold. {Mrs. 
Stubbs stares.) You see, Mr. Stubbs is coming 
home by the mean solar time of Philadelphia. 

mrs. stubbs {loyal to Mr. Stubbs) 
Who said he was? 

eloise {in distress) 
Oh, it's all so false! And arbitrary! {To Ian.) 
But I think Mrs. Stubbs had better be false 
and arbitrary, too. Mr. Stubbs might rather 
have his supper than the truth. 

mrs. stubbs {advancing a little) 

What is this about my being false? And — 
arbitrary? 

ELOISE 

You see, you have to be, Mrs. Stubbs. We 
don't blame you. How can you live by the truth 
if Mr. Stubbs doesn't work by it? 
141 



TICKLESS TIME 



MRS. STUBBS 

This is the first word I ever heard said against 
Johnnie Stubbs's way of freezin' fish. 

ELOISE 

Oh, Mrs. Stubbs, if it were merely his way of 
freezing fish! 

IAN 

Since you are not trying to establish a direct re- 
lation with truth, set your clock at five minutes 
of six. The clocks, as would be clear to you 
if you would establish a first-hand relation with 
this diagram, Eloise, are slow. 

MRS. STUBBS 

You mean your sun clock's wrong. 

IAN 

All other clocks are wrong. 

ELOISE 

You live by the mean solar time of Philadelphia. 

MRS. STUBBS 

I do no such thing! 

ELOISE 

Yes, you do, Mrs. Stubbs. You see the sun 
can't be both here and in Philadelphia at the 
same time. Now, could it? So we have to pre- 
tend to be where it is in Philadelphia. 

MRS. STUBBS 

Who said we did? 

ELOISE 

Well, (after a look at Ian) the Government. 

MRS. STUBBS 

Them congressmen ! 

ELOISE 

But Mr. Joyce and I — You're standing on a 
grave, Mrs. Stubbs. (Mrs. Stubbs jumps.) The 
142 



TICKLESS TIME 



grave of my grandmother's clock. {In reply 
to Mrs. Stubbs' s look of amazement.) Oh, yes! 
That clock has done harm enough. Mrs. Subbs, 
think what time is — and then consider my grand- 
mother's clock! Tick, tick! Tick, tick! Mess- 
ing up eternity like that! 

mrs. stubbs {after failing to think of anything 
adequate) I must get Mr. Stubbs his supper! 
{Frightened exit.) 

ian {standing near house door) 

Eloise, how I love you when feeling lifts you out 
of routine! Do you know, dearest, you are 
very sensitive in the way you feel feeling? 
Sometimes I think that the way to feel feeling 
is greater than to feel. You're like the dial. 
Your sensitiveness is the style — the gnomon — 
to cast the shadow of the feeling all around you 
and mark what has been felt. {They embrace.) 

{Eddy and Alice open the gate.) 

EDDY 

Ahem! {He comes down.) Ahem! We seem to 
have come ahead of time. 

ELOISE 

Oh, Eddy! Alice! {Moving toward Eddy but 
not passing the dial.) We are living by sun time 
now. You haven't arrived for twenty minutes. 

EDDY 

We haven't arrived for twenty minutes? {Feel- 
ing of himself .) Why do I seem to be here? 
alice {approaching dial) 

So this is the famous sun-dial? How very 



interesting it is! 



143 



TICKLESS TIME 



ELOISE 

It's more than that. 

ALICE 

Yes, it's really beautiful, isn't it? 

ELOISE 

It's more than that. 

EDDY 

Is it? 

ELOISE 

It's a symbol. It means that Ian and I are done 
with approximations arbitrarily and falsely im- 
posed upon us. 

EDDY 

Well, I should think you would be. Who's been 
doing that to you? 

ELOISE 

Don't step on the graves, please, Alice. 
alice {starting back in horror) 

Graves ? 
eloise {pointing down) 

The lies we inherited lie buried there. 

EDDY 

Well, I should think that might make quite a 
graveyard. So the sun-dial is built on lies. 

ELOISE 

Indeed it is not! 

ALICE 

Does it keep time? 

IAN 

It doesn't "keep" time. It gives it. 
eddy {comparing with his watch) 

Well, it gives it wrong. It's twenty minutes fast. 

{Van and Eloise smile at one another in a superior 
way.) 



144 



TICKLESS TIME 



ALICE 

You couldn't expect a home-made clock to be 
perfectly accurate. I think it's doing very- 
well to come within twenty minutes of the true 
time. 

IAN 

It is true time. 

ELOISE 

You think it's twenty minutes fast because your 
puny, meticulous little watch is twenty minutes 
slow. 

ALICE 

Why, is it, Eddy? {Comparing watches across 
the sun-dial?) No, Eddy's watch is right by 
mine. 

IAN 

And neither of you is right by the truth. 
e lo i s e {pity ingly) 

Don't you know that you are running by the 
mean solar time of Philadelphia? 

EDDY 

Well, isn't everybody else running that way? 

ELOISE 

Does that .make it right? 

EDDY 

I get you. You are going to cast off standard 
time and live by solar time. 

ELOISE 

Lies for truth. 

EDDY 

But how are you going to connect up with other 
people ? 

IAN 

We can allow for their mistakes. 
145 



TICKLESS TIME 



ELOISE 

We will connect with other people in so far as 
other people are capable of connecting with 
the truth! 

EDDY 

I'm afraid you'll be awful lonesome sometimes. 

ALICE 

But, Eloise, do you mean to say that you are 
going to insist on being right when other people 
are wrong? 

ELOISE 

I insist upon it. 

ALICE 

What a life! 

EDDY 

Come, now, what difference does it make if 
we're wrong, if we're all wrong together? 

IAN 

That idea has made a clock of the human mind. 
{Enter Annie.) 

ANNIE 

Mrs. Joyce, can't I have my clock back now? 

I don't know when to start dinner. 
ian {consulting dial) 

By true time, Annie, it is twenty minutes past 

six. 
eloise {confidentially) 

By false time it is six. 

ANNIE 

I have to have my kitchen clock back. {She 
looks around for it.) 

IAN 

We are done with clocks, Annie. 
146 



TICKLESS TIME 



ANNIE 

You mean I'm not to have it back? 

ELOISE 

It lies buried there. 

ANNIE 

Buriedl My clock buried? It's not dead! 

IAN 

It's dead to us, Annie. 
annie {after looking at the grave) 
Do I get a new clock? 

ELOISE 

We are going to establish a first-hand relation 
with truth. 

ANNIE 

You can't cook without a clock. 

IAN 

A superstition. And, anyway — have you not the 
sun? 
annie {after regarding the sun) 

I'd rather have a clock than the sun. {Returns 
to her clockless kite ken.) 

IAN 

That's what clocks have made of the human 
mind. 
eddy {coming to Ian) 

Of course, this is all a joke. 

IAN 

The attempt to reach the truth has always been 
thought a joke. 

EDDY 

But this isn't any new truth! Why re-reach it? 

IAN 

I'm reaching it myself. I'm getting the impact — 
as of a fresh truth. 

147 



TICKLESS TIME 



ALICE 

But hasn't it all been worked out for us? 

IAN 

And we take it never knowing — never feeling 
— what it is we take. 

ELOISE 

And that has made us the mechanical things we 
are! 
annie {frantically rushes in, peeling an onion) 
Starting the sauce for the spaghetti. Fry onions 
in butter three minutes. {Wildly regards sun- 
dial — traces curved line of diagram with knife. 
Looks despairingly at the sun. Tears back into 
the housed 

IAN 

You get no sense of wonder in looking at a clock. 

ALICE 

Yes, do you know, I do. I've always thought 
that clocks were perfectly wonderful I never 
could understand how they could run like that. 

ELOISE 

I suppose you know they run wrong? 

EDDY 

What do you mean "run wrong?" 

ELOISE 

Why, you are running by the mean solar time 
of Philadelphia. And yet here you are in 
Provincetown where the sun is a very different 
matter. You have no direct relation with the 
sun. 

EDDY 

That doesn't seem to worry me much. 
148 



TICKLESS TIME 



IAN 

No, it wouldn't worry you, Eddy. You're too 
perfect a product of a standardized world. 

{Eddy bows acknowledgment.) 

annie {rushing out to look at dial.) Add meat, 
brown seven minutes. {Measures seven minutes 
between thumb and finger, holds up this frag- 
ment of time made visible and [carries it carefully 
into the housed) 

EDDY 

That girl'll get heart disease. 

IAN 

Let her establish a first-hand relation to heat. 
If she'd take a look at the food instead of the 
clock — ! 

EDDY 

Trouble is we have to establish a first-hand re- 
lation with the spaghetti. {Eddy now comes down 
and regards the sun-dial. Moralizes?) If other 
people have got the wrong dope, you've got to 
have the wrong dope or be an off ox. 

IAN 

Perfect product of a standardized nation ! 
eddy {pointing with his stick) 
What's this standardized snake? 

IAN 

That's my diagram correcting the sun? 

EDDY 

Does one correct the sun? 
eloise {from behind the dial) 
Ian ! Correcting the sun! 

IAN 

You see, there are only four days in the year 
149 



TICKLESS TIME 



when the apparent time is the same as the aver- 
age time. 
eloise (in growing alarm) 

Do you mean to tell me the sun is not right 
with itself? 

IAN 

I've tried to explain it to you, Eloise, but you 
said you could get the feeling of it without un- 
derstanding it. This curve (pointing) marks 
the variation. Here, today, you see, the shadow 
is "right" as you call it— that is, average. It 
will be right again here in September, and again 
on December twenty-first. 

ALICE 

My birthday! 

ELOISE 

Ian, you mean to say the sun only tells the right 
sun time four days in the year? 

IAN 

It always tells the "right" sun time, but here 
the said right sun time is fifteen minutes be- 
hind its own average, and here it is sixteen 
minutes ahead. This scale here across the bot- 
tom shows you the number of minutes to add 
or subtract. 
eloise (with bitterness) 

Add! Subtract! Then you and your sun are 
false! 

IAN u ■ m _ 

No, Eloise, not false. Merely intricate. Merely 
not regular. Machines are regular. 

eloise 
You got me to bury the clocks and live by the 
150 



TICKLESS TIME 



sun and now you tell me you have to fix up the 
sun. 

IAN 

It was you who said bury the clocks. 

ELOISE 

I suppose you have to do something to the North 
star, too! 

IAN 

Yes, the North star is not true north. (He 
starts to point out its error , sighting over the style 
of the dial.) 

ELOISE 

What is true? What is true? 
ian (with vision) 
The mind of man. 

ELOISE 

I think I'd better have a clock. (A new gust.) 
You told me I was to live by the sun, and now 
— after the clocks are in their graves — what 
I am to live by is that snake. (She points at 
diagram.) 

IAN 

You are a victim of misplaced confidence, 
Eloise. Sometimes when one feels things with- 
out understanding them, one feels the wrong 
thing. But there's nothing to worry about. 
The sun and I can take care of the sun's irregu- 
larities. 

EDDY 

Take heart, Eloise. It's a standardized sun. 

IAN 

It's not a blindly accepted sun! 
annie (who comes as one not to be put aside) 
What'll I do when it rains? 
151 



TICKLESS TIME 



IAN 

You'll use your mind. 

ANNIE 

To tell time by? {Looking to Eloise.) I think 

I'd better find another place. 
alice (coming forward, regarding this as a really 

serious matter) 

No, don't do that, Annie. 
eloise (tearfully) 

You don't know the wonders of your own mind! 

ANNIE 

No, ma'am. (After a look at the sun, becomes 
terrified.) It's going down ! 

EDDY 

Yes, it goes down. 

ANNIE 

How'll we tell time when it's dark? 

IAN 

Sine sole silio. 

ANNIE 

Is that saying how we'll know when it's time 
to go to bed? 

IAN 

The doves know when to go to bed. 

ANNIE 

The doves don't go to the pictures. 
eloise (hysterically) 
You'll grow, Annie! 

ANNIE 

I'd rather have a clock. (Exit.) 

IAN 

She'd rather have a clock than grow. 

ALICE 

Now, why can't one do both? 
152 



TICKLESS TIME 



IAN 

One doesn't — that's the answer. One merely 
has the clock. I'd rather be a fool than a ma- 
chine. 

EDDY 

I never definitely elected to be either. 

IAN 

One can be both without electing either. 

ELOISE 

I want to hear the ticking of a clock! 

EDDY 

It's a nice thing to hear. The ticking of a clock 
means the minds of many men. As long as the 
mind of man has to — fix up the facts of nature in 
order to create ideal time I feel it's a little more 
substantial to have the minds of many men. 

ALICE 

As I've told you before, Eloise, you can't do 
better than accept the things that have been 
all worked out for you. 

IAN 

You hear them, Eloise ? You see where this de- 
fense of clocks is leading? 

ELOISE 

Ian, I'm terribly worried — and a little hurt — 
about the sun. {As one beginning a dirge.) The 
sun has fail'ed me. The North star is false. 
ian {going to her) 
I am here, dearest. 

ELOISE 

Sometimes you seem so much like space. I 
am running by the sun — that wobbly sun {look- 
ing at it) and everyone else is running by Phila- 
delphia. I want a little clock to tick to me! 
*53 



TICKLESS TIME 



IAN 

You will grow, dearest. 

ELOISE 

There's no use growing. The things you grow 

to are wrong. {Pressing her hands to her head.) 

I need a tick in time! 
ian {striding savagely from her) 

Very well, then; dig up the clocks. 
eddy 

Now you're talking! 

{Eloise springs up.) 

IAN 

Dig up the clocks! And we spend our lives 
nineteen minutes and twenty seconds apart! 

{Eloise is arrested, appalled. Dreadful pause.) 

ELOISE 

You mean we'd never get together? 

IAN 

Time would lie between us. I refuse to be 
re-caught into a clock world. It was you, 
Eloise, who proposed to give up the clocks and 
live in this first-hand relation to truth. 

ELOISE 

I didn't know I was proposing a first-hand re- 
lation with that snake! 

IAN 

It's not a snake! It's a little piece of the long- 
winding road to truth. It's the discarding of 
error, the adjustment of fact. And I did it my- 
self. And it puts me on that road. Oh, I know 
{to Eddy and Alice) how you can laugh if you 
154 " 



TICKLESS TIME 



yourself feel no need to feel truth. And you, 
Eloise, if you don't want to feel time — return 
to your mean little clock. What is a clock? 
A clock is the soulless — 

(The alarm clock enters a protest. Smothered 
sound of the alarm clock going of underground. 
Eloise screams.) 

ELOISE 

The alarm clock! It's going off! 

ALICE 

Buried alive! 

ELOISE 

Oh, no — oh, no! How terrible! Ian, how ter- 
rible! {She runs to him. Alarm clock, being 
intermittent, goes off again.) 

IAN 

Eloise, if you listen to the voice of that clock — ! 

EDDY 

How bravely it tries to function in its grave! 

ALICE 

The death struggle — the last gasp! 

{JVith another scream Eloise snatches spade, be- 
gins to dig; alarm clock gives another little gasp; 
spade is too slow for her: in her desperation, goes 
to it with her hands. Gets it and, as she holds 
it aloft, the alarm clock rings its triumph.) 

eloise {holding it to her ear) 

It's ticking. It ticks! It ticks! Oh, it's good 
to hear the ticking of a clock! 

{As he hears this, Ian, after a moment of terrible 
silence, goes and unscrews the plate of the sun- 
dial. All watch him, afraid to speak. He takes 
155 



TICKLESS TIME 



it off, holds it above the grave from which the alarm 
clock has been rescued?) 

ELOISE 

Ian! What are you doing? (He does not an- 
swer, but puts the sun-dial in the alarm clock 's 
grave.) Ian! No! No! Not that! Not your 
beautiful sun-dial! Oh, no! Not that! 

(Ian, having finished the burial of the sun-dial, 
sees the alarm clock, and puts it on the pedestal 
from which the sun-dial has been taken. 

IAN 

We bow down, as of old, to the mechanical. 
We will have no other god but it. (He then 
sits on the step, sunk in gloom.) 

(Annie appears, in her hand a panful of water?) 

ANNIE 

This liver has to soak five minutes. I'll soak 
it here. (Sees the alarm clock; with a cry of joy.) 
My clock! My clock! (Overcome with emotion.) 
Oh! My clock! My clock! Can I take it in the 
house to finish dinner? 
eloise (in a hopeless voice) 
Yes, take it away. 

(Beaming, Annie bears it to her kitchen. Eloise 
now kneels behind the grave of the sun-dial?) 

EDDY 

Let us leave them alone with their dead. (Leads 
Alice to the corner of the house; they look of down 
the road.) 

(Eloise and Ian sit there on either side of the 

i 5 6 



TICKLESS TIME 



grave, swaying a little ', back and forth , as those 
who mourn.) 

eloise (looking at grave) 

I had thought life was going to be so beautiful. 

IAN 

It might have been. 
eloise (looking at empty pedestal) 

I suppose it will never be beautiful again. 

IAN 

It cannot be beautiful again.. . 

(Suddenly, with a cry, Eloise gets up and darts 
to the house: comes racing back with the alarm 
clock, snatches spade, desperately begins to dig 
a graved) 

ELOISE 

Ian! Ian! Don't you see what I'm doing? I'm 
willing to have a first-hand relation with the sun 
even though it's not regular. 

(But Ian is as one who has lost hope. Eddy 
and Alice turn to watch the re-burial of the alarm 
clock. Annie strides in.) 

annie (in no mood for feeling) 

Where's my alarm clock? 
eloise 

I am burying it. 

ANNIE 

Again? (Looks at sun-dial.) And even the sun 
clock's gone? 

EDDY 

All is buried. Truth. Error. We have re- 
turned to the nothing from which we came. 
157 



TICKLESS TIME 



ANNIE 

This settles it. Now I go. I leave. {Firm 
with purpose, re-enters the house.) 

alice {excitedly) 

Eloise! She means it! 

eloise {dully) 

I suppose she does. {Continues ner grave dig- 
ging.) 

ALICE 

But you can't get anybody else! You can't 
get anybody now. Oh, this is madness. What 
does any of the rest of it matter if you have lost 
your cook? {To Ian.) Eloise can't do the work! 
Peel potatoes — scrub. What's the difference 
what's true if you have to clean out your own 
sink? {Despairing of him y she turns to Eloise.) 
Eloise, stop fussing about the moon and stars! 
You're losing your cook! 

{Annie comes from the house with suitcase, 
shawl-strap, and hand-bag on long strings. 
Marches straight to left of stage, makes a face at 
the sun, marches to gate left rear and off.) 

ALICE 

Eddy, go after her! Heavens! Has no one a 
mind? Go after her! 

EDDY 

What's the good of going after her without a 
clock? 

ALICE 

Well, get a clock! For heaven's sake, get a 
clock! Eloise, get off the grave of the alarm 
clock! {Eloise stands like a monument. To 
Eddy.) Well, there are graves all around you. 

i 5 8 



TICKLESS TIME 



Dig something else up. No ! You call her back. 

I'll — {Snatches spade \ which is resting against 

sun-dial pedestal^ begins to dig,) 
eddy {stands at back, calling) 

Annie! Oh, Annie! Wait, Annie! 
alice {while frantically digging) 

Say something to interest her, imbecile! 
eddy {stick in one hand, straw hat in the other, 

making wild signals with both.) Come home, 

Annie! Clock! Clock! {Giving up that job and 

throwing of his coat.) You interest her and I'll 

dig. 

{They change places.) 

ALICE 

She's most to the bend! Eddy, don't you know- 
how to dig? 

{Eddy, who has been digging with speed and skill, 
produces the clock with which Eloise' s grand- 
mother started housekeeping. Starts to dash of 
with it.) 

eloise {dully) 

That clock doesn't keep time. Annie hates it. 
ian {as if irritated by all this inefficiency) 

What she wants is the alarm clock. Get off 

the grave, Eloise. 

{He disinters alarm clock and with it runs after 
Annie. Alice draws a long breath and rubs her 
back. Eddy brings the clock he dug up and sets 
it on the pedestal. Then he looks down at the 
disturbed graves.) 

EDDY 

Here's a watch! {Lifts it from the grave; holds 
11 159 



TICKLESS TIME 



it out to Eloise; she does not take it. He puts 
it on the pedestal beside the clock.) Here's an- 
other watch. {Holds up Ian's watch.) Quite 
a valuable piece of ground. 

(Now is heard the smothered voice of a cuckoo.) 

alice (jumping) 
What's that? 

ELOISE 

The cuckoo. I suppose it's lonesome. 

alice (outraged) 

Cuckoo! (Pointing.) In that grave? The 
cuckoo we gave you? (Eloise nods.) You 
buried our wedding present ? (Eloise again nods. 
Eddy and Alice draw together in indignation) 
Well, I must say, the people who try to lead 
the right kind of lives always do the wrong thing. 
(Stiffly.) I am not accustomed to having my 
wedding presents put in graves. Will you please 
dig it up, Eddy? It will do very well on the 
mantel in our library. And my back nearly 
broken digging for your cook! (She holds her 
back.) 

(While Eddy is digging up the cuckoo , Annie and 
Ian appear and march across from gate to house, 
Annie triumphantly bearing her alarm clock, 
Ian — a captive at her chariot wheels— following 
with suitcase, shawl-strap, and long strings 
of bag around his wrist. A moment later Ian 
comes out of the house, looks at each dug-up 
thing, stands by the grave of the sun-dial. Enter 
Mrs. Stubbs.) 

1 60 



TICKLESS TIME 



MRS. STUBBS 

Oh, Mr. Joyce, I've come to see your sun clock 
again. Mr. Stubbs says he 11 not be run from 
Philadelphia. He says if you have got the time 
straight from the sun — (Sees that the sun-dial 
is gone) Oh, do you take 'it in at night? 

IAN 

The sun-dial lies buried there. 

MRS. STUBBS 

You've buried the sun-clock? And dug up all 
the wrong clocks ? (With a withering glance at 
Eloise.) That's how a smart man's appreciated! 
What did you bury it for, Mr. Joyce? 

(Eddy gives the cuckoo clock to Alice.) 

IAN 

It cannot live in this world where no one wants 
truth or feeling about truth. This is a world for 
clocks. 

MRS. STUBBS 

Well, / want truth! And so does Johnnie 
Stubbs! If you'll excuse my saying so, Mr. 
Joyce, after you've made a thing that's right 
you oughtn't to bury it, even if there is nobody 
to want it. And now that / want it — (Mrs. 
Stubbs takes the spade and begins to dig up the 
sun-dial. Ian cannot resist this and helps her. 
He lifts the sun-dial, she brushes it off, and he 
Jits it to its place on the pedestal.) Now, there it 
is, Mr. Joyce, and as good as if it had never seen 
the grave. (She looks at the setting sun.) And 
there's time for it to make its shadow before 
this sun has gone. 

161 



TICKLESS TIME 



IAN 

The simple mind has beauty. 
eloise {coming to him) 
I want to be simpler. 

MRS. STUBBS 

Now what time would you say it was, Mr. 
Joyce? 

IAN 

I would say it was twenty minutes of seven, 
Mrs. Stubbs. . 
mrs. stubbs (looking at Eddy and Alice and the 
cuckoo clock) 

And they would say it was twenty minutes past 
six! Well, / say: let them that want sun time 
have sun time, and them that want tick time 
have tick time. 



(Annie appears at the door?) 



annie (in aflat voice) 
It's dinner time! 



Curtain 



162 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

A RIDICULOUS TRAGEDY IN ONE ACT 

by Kenneth Sawyer Goodman and Ben Hecht 



CHARACTERS 

Nathan Fisher, known as "Nate" 
Martin Fisher, known as "Marty" 
Elmira Fisher, 
Edward Martin Fisher, 

known as "Toady" 
James Merryweather Hines, 

known as the "Squire" or "Heinie" 
Bernard P. Foss 
Theodore Q. Wilkinson 

The Hero of Santa Maria was originally presented by the 

Washington Square Players, at the Comedy Theatre, New 

York, on the night of February 12, 1917. 



Copyright, 1920, by FRANK SHAY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Production of this play must not be made except by written 
permission of the authors, who may be addressed in care of 
the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. 



THE HERO 
OF SANTA MARIA 

The Scene is the living-room of the Fisher home. 
A scrupulously neat room of the late horsehair 
and wax flower period. 

At the back is the "front door," and near it a win- 
dow looking toward the street. At the left is a 
door leading into Marty s bedroom, and at the 
right a door leading into a room sacred to Nate. 

Over Marty s door is a printed sign, "Trespassers 
will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law." 
On the right wall is a crayon portrait of Nate in 
G. A. R. uniform. The uniform is draped with 
small American flags. 

In the center of the room is a table with two stiff 
chairs beside it. There are other articles of furni- 
ture, including another small table with a drawer 
in it. Among the knick-knacks on the center 
table is a plush-covered family album. 

The time is about ten in the morning of a pleasant 
spring day. 

When the curtain rises the stage is empty. Imme- 
diately the street doors open and Marty peers 
cautiously into the room. He then enters and 
closes the door behind him. 

MARTY 

Hey! Anybody home? {He listens, then goes 
cautiously to the door at the right, opens it, and 
165 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

listens again.) Hullo, Nate! Are y' in there? 
{Evidently satisfied that the room is empty, he 
tiptoes across to the door at the left, stands before 
it y and raps softly and with precision. He then 
squats down and addresses the occupant of the 
room through the keyhole.) P-s-s-s-t! Toady! 
{Receiving no response, he looks about anxiously 
and again speaks into the keyhold in a slightly 
louder voiced) P-s-s-s-t! Toady! 
a sleepy voice {from inside) 
What d'you want? 

MARTY 

Open the door. It's me, Uncle Marty. 

THE VOICE 

Oh! 

{A bolt is shot, and Toady Fisher stands on the 
threshold, rubbing his eyes. Marty produces 
two bottles of beer and a paper bag, which he 
places on the center table?) 

toady {stretching his arms) 
Oh hum! 

MARTY 

Wake up. . . . I've brought yer breakfast. 
toady {glancing at the clock) 
You took yer time about it. 

MARTY 

If Ed snuck so much as a doughnut out of our 
own kitchen yer Aunt Elmira'd been wise to 
us in a minute. She's tighter than the skin on 
a prize pig, she is. 

TOADY 

Well, what you got? 

1 66 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

MARTY 

A couple of bottles of beer and a fried egg 

sandwich from Hopper's Hotel. 
toady {examining the supplies) 

Huh, is that all? 
marty {looking into his hat, which he takes off for 

the first time) 

I had a pair of fried fish-cakes in the top of my 

hat. Guess I must have lost 'em when I tipped 

it to Mrs. Sprudder down by the corner. 
toady {pulling up a chair to the table) 

Say, get me a glass and a plate, can't you ? 
marty {seizing his arm) 

No you don't; not out here. They'll spot you 

sure. 

TOADY 

Rats! Pa wouldn't have me arrested. 

MARTY 

You ain't lived with him for sixty-seven years 
like I have. 

TOADY 

He can't pin it on me that I ever seen his fifty 
dollars. 

MARTY 

I reckon everybody knows it left town along 
about the same time you did. 
toady {beginning to eat the sandwich) 
Well, I ain't got it now, that's a cinch. 

MARTY 

Look here, who's running this family recon- 
ciliation, me or you? 
toady {his mouth full) 

Aw, can the prodigal son stuff, can it. 
167 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

MARTY 

Now, Toady, don't go and spoil it all. 

TOADY 

I wouldn't have stopped off in no flea-bitten 
burg like this, only I was sick of bumming my 
way on freights. All I want's enough coin to 
get me to Chicago like a gentleman. 

MARTY 

You don't know how much I've missed you. 
Why, I can't even take a couple of drinks no 
more without crying. Go on in there like a 
good boy, and mebbe I'll run up to the barber 
shop and borrow the Police Gazette for you to 
read. 
toady {getting up) 

I give you fair warning. I ain't going to sit in 
that hole all day. 

MARTY 

You'll be safe. Even Elmira daresn't put her 
foot in my room. 
toady {picking up one of the beer bottles and the 
sandwich and moving toward the door at the left) 
Aw, all right! All right! 

MARTY 

I'll steal something nice for your dinner, honest 
to Gawd I will. Some cold banana pudding. 
toady {wearily) 

All right! All right! 

{Marty pushes Toady ' through the door and 
closes it.) 

MARTY 

Now lock it on the inside. An' don't you open 
your head except I give you the high sign. 
168 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

toady {from inside) 
All right! 

(The bolt is shot. Marty listens a moment > then 
goes back to the center table and picks up the re- 
maining bottle of beer just as the street door opens 
and Elmira Fisher enters. She has a letter in 
her hand?) 

elmira (in a rasping voice) 
Well, what are you doing home at this time of 
day? 

(Marty, startled, turns and switches the bottle of 
beer behind him.) 

MARTY 

Eh? 

ELMIRA 

You heard what I said. 

MARTY 

So help me, I — 

ELMIRA 

YouVe been drinking. I can smell it on you 
from here. 

MARTY 

That's a nice way for a sister to talk, ain't it? 

ELMIRA 

I'd like to forget I was your sister. 

MARTY 

I ain't laying nothing in the way to hinder you 
trying. (He makes a move toward the street door.) 

ELMIRA 

Where you going now? 
169 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

MARTY 

Mebbe I'm going back to sweep the court- 
house, and then again, mebbe I'm going fishing. 

ELMIRA 

Fishing! Huh! 

MARTY 

Well, fishing's respectable, ain't it? It's men- 
tioned in the Bible, ain't it? I guess that'll 
hold you. The Lord said to his disciples, "Go 
out and dig bait," or something — 

ELMIRA 

Martin Henry Fisher, you're a blaspheming 
good-for-nothing — 

MARTY 

Aw, dry up! 

ELMIRA 

You'll lose your job, and serve you right, too. 

MARTY 

Needn't let that wear on your nose. I'm a 
political appointee, I am. I've got influence in 
Forkville. 
elmira {turning on him) 

Influence! You've got influence, all right. Bad 
influence, that's what you've got. It was your 
influence made a thief out of your own nephew 
Edward and damned his immortal soul for him. 

MARTY 

I ain't responsible for Toady. He ain't my son. 

ELMIRA 

It don't matter whose son he is — 

MARTY 

Aw, lay off! 

170 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

ELMIRA 

What's that you're hiding under your coat- 
tails ? 

marty {realizing that further concealment of the 
beer bottle is useless) 

Just a plain bottle of beer, registered under the 
Pure Food Act, to contain five per cent alcohol. 

ELMIRA 

I knew it! So that's what you keep hidden in 
that pig-sty of a room of yours. {She advances 
toward the door at the left.) 
marty {in alarm) 

Hold on there. Where you going? 

ELMIRA 

To bust in that door if I have to take an axe to 
it. I'm going to clear this house of every drop 
of devil's rum you've had the indecency to 
bring into it. 
marty {getting between Elmira and the door) 

No you don't! I own one-third of this house 
the same as you and Nate. Take a squint at 
that sign over my door. "Trespassers will be 
prosecuted to the full extent of the law." You 
keep out of my place and I'll keep out of yours. 
Don't have nothing more to do with me than 
you can help, and I'll return the favor, all right. 
But, by cricky, if you so much as set one of 
your flat feet acrost that sill, I'll have a war- 
rant out for you. 

{Marty has backed up against the door, and 
Elmira stands glaring at him. Nathan Fisher 
enters from the street unnoticed in time to hear 
the last line.) 

171 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

elmira {to Marty) 

You — you viper! 
nate {gruffly) 

Here, what's going on? 

MARTY 

Howdy, Nate. I was just going out. 

ELMIRA 

It would be a God's mercy if you'd go for 
good. 
nate {coming toward the table) 

It ain't likely he'll oblige us that far. What 
can't be helped has got to be endured. 

MARTY 

Amen ! That goes for both sides of the family. 
nate {picking up the letter from the table and 
peering at it) 
When did this come? 

ELMIRA 

I just fetched it from the post-office. 

nate {feeling in his pockets) 

I must have left my specks in my other coat. 

Here, Marty, where's it from? {He hands the 

letter to Marty and sits down.) 
marty {reading from the corner of the envelope) 

Fourteen eighteen F Street, Washington, D. C. 

NATE 

Huh! 

ELMIRA 

Give it here to me. 

MARTY 

Don't get in a twitter. I'm doing this. 

NATE 

Well, why don't you open it? 
172 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

{Marty deliberately tears open the envelope and 
shakes out the letter?) 

marty {reading from the letter) 

Mr. Nathan Fisher, Forkville, Indiana. 

Dear Sir: Our Mr. Gray has again looked into 
the evidence upon which you propose to base 
your fourth application for pension as a veteran 
of the Civil War, and we regret that, in our 
opinion, it is not sufficient to warrant us in 
going further with the case. The records 
clearly show that you were drafted into the 
army March 14, 1864, and had not left training 
camp at the close of hostilities. 

There is, however, one possibility, to which we 
call your attention. We understand that the 
Honorable Bernard P. Foss is a fellow-citizen 
of yours. Mr. Foss is doubtless well known to 
you, and if willing to bring his personal influ- 
ence to bear in your behalf could undoubtedly 
induce the Board of Pensions to take favorable 
action. 

We herewith enclose bill for services to date, 
trusting that they have been entirely satis- 
factory and that our suggestion in regard to 
Mr. Foss will prove helpful. 

Yours respectfully, 

Dodson & Griffin, 
Attorneys-at-Law. 
nate {with bitter resignation) 
That settles it, consarn 'em! Old Foss wouldn't 
lift a finger if I was drowning. 

ELMIRA 

How much is the bill? 

173 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

MARTY 

Eighty-seven dollars. 

ELMIRA 

The robbers! 
nate (between his teeth) 

That's it, robbers! The hull country's in the 
hands of a bunch of dirty political crooks. If 
fellers like Squire Hines and Ted Wilkinson had 
an ounce of red-blooded patriotism they 
wouldn't stand to see a soldier of the Rebellion 
turned out of his nation's history. 

MARTY 

Haw, haw! 

ELMIRA 

You act like you seen something funny in pay- 
ing out eighty-seven dollars for nothing. 

MARTY 

I reckon it takes a smarter liar than Nate to 
fool 'em in Washington. 

NATE 

Who's a liar? Ain't I marched in every Deco- 
ration Day parade for forty years? Ain't I a 
member of the G. A. R. Post Number Ninety- 
two? 

ELMIRA 

Not to count being a deacon and an officer of 
the Sunday school 

MARTY 

Being a Bo's'un in the Baptist Church don't 
entitle you to nothing this side of the Golden 
Gate. 

ELMIRA 

You're a low-down blaspheming likker snake. 
174 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

MARTY 

Well, as Toady used to say, mebbe it's better 
to be soaked in rum than vinegar. 

(Elmira begins to whimper?) 

NATE 

I told you never to mention that scalawag's 
name in this house. Ain't it enough misfortune 
to be cheated out of sixteen hundred dollars 
back pension and a regular pension twice a 
month without you forever reminding me that 
I'm the father of a thief? 

marty {glancing apprehensively at the bedroom 
door) 

You hadn't ought to be so hard and unforgiv- 
ing. Like as not Toady'll turn out a credit to 
the family yet. 

nate (bitterly) 

I never had an ounce of comfort out of him all 
the days of his life, and I never expect to. 

MARTY 

Supposing he was to come home — I'm only 
saying — supposing? 
nate (bringing his fist down) 

I'd have him in jail, that's where I'd have him. 
He's a liar and a drunkard and a thief. There 
ain't anything bad enough to call him, nothing! 

MARTY 

Hold on! You don't have to yell. 

ELMIRA 

There's Squire Hines now. 

NATE 

Eh! Who? 

175 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

ELMIRA 

Squire Hines. He's coming up the walk! 
nate (confused between his anger at Toady and 
his anger over the pension) 

He's another one of 'em, damn 'em! They're 
all of a piece, conspiring to keep a man out of 
his rights. Darn the hull pack of 'em! 

ELMIRA 

Nate! 

NATE 

He'd better keep out of here. I got scores to 
settle with him. 

MARTY 

You ain't thinking of the editorial he wrote 
the time Toady was up for throwing the dead 
calf down Eben Fosdick's well ? The one where 
he said the father was responsible for the sins 
of his son ? 

NATE 

I ain't saying what I'm thinking — 

MARTY 

'Cause you'd oughtn't to blame a newspaper 
editor for thinking things out in an uncommon 
way. 

{There is a knock at the door. Elmira hesitates 
and looks at Nate. The knock is repeated?) 

nate {to Elmira) 

You heard him knock, didn't you? 

{Elmira opens the street door. Squire Hines 
enters pompously with his hat in his hand. The 
others regard him suspiciously without speaking) 
176 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

NATE 

Well? 

HINES 

Mr. Fisher, sir, I realize that under ordinary 
circumstances I would not be a welcome visitor 
in your home. 

MARTY 

I guess you re about right on that. 

HINES 

I feel, however, that in view of what has so 
recently and unexpectedly transpired, all petty 
rancors and animosities should be swept aside. 
I come, friends, as the bearer of sad, but glorious 
news, which to-night will thrill the national 
conscience and set the hearts of every man 
and woman in the State beating high with 
pride and sorrow. 

ELMIRA 

Well, we re listening to you. 

HINES 

To be as brief as possible, my paper has just 
received a dispatch from the Associated Press, 
dated this morning. 

MARTY 

No wonder you're excited. I bet it's about the 
first time the Bugle's had a piece of news less 
than a couple of days old. 
hines {impressively) 

Your levity, sir, is ill-timed. The dispatch to 
which I refer recounts the heroic death of your 
brother's only son, Edward Martin Fisher. 

MARTY 

Eh? 

177 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

nate {taken back) 
How's that? 

ELMIRA 

It's all a mistake. Toady wasn't the kind to 
expose himself. 

HINES 

So I thought myself, Miss Fisher, but I was 
wrong. Toady, as you so lovingly call him, 
showed himself, when the crisis came, to be a 
man of honor fit to take his place beside the 
heroes of the past. 
marty {with a glance at the bedroom) 

Say, you could knock me down with a feather! 

NATE 

Where did it happen? 

HINES 

At Santa Maria del something-or-other, on the 
Mexican border, the Company of United States 
Cavalry in which your son had enlisted — 

ELMIRA 

Now I know it's a mistake. Toady never rode 
a horse in his life. 

hines {ignoring the interruption) 

I repeat, sir, his company crossed the river 
under a murderous fire to dislodge a party of 
snipers. At the very foot of the enemy's posi- 
tion Edward gloriously gave up his life for our 
beloved flag, the first American killed. 

marty {wiping his face with his handkerchief) 
Phew! 

NATE 

You're sure of what you're saying? 

HINES 

When you have been duly informed of your 

i 7 8 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

bereavement by the War Department, the re- 
mains will be shipped here for interment, via 
El Paso, Texas. 

MARTY 

I never was a funeral fan like Elmira, but this 
here corpse is one I'll take a heap of interest 
looking at. 
elmira (to Marty) 
You're a callous, unfeeling reptile. 

HINES 

I have no wish to add to your burden of afflic- 
tion, but I warn you in advance that the features 
have been mutilated beyond recognition. He 
was identified only by the card sewed in his 
uniform. 

marty {slapping his knee as a light suddenly dawns 
on him) 
Haw, haw, haw! So that's it? 

elmira {seizing Marty by the collar) 
So that's what? 

MARTY 

Take your hands off me. I got a right to be 
upset by my grief the same as the rest of you, 
ain't I? 

HINES 

If I may be allowed to say so, your grief ought 
to be somewhat tempered by the knowledge 
that your loss has given the youth of America 
an example of noble and self-sacrificing courage. 

NATE 

I knew it. 

MARTY 

Eh? 

179 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

NATE 

Any son of mine was bound to have the right 
stuff in him. Yes, sir, I knew it all along. 

MARTY 

Well, I'll be damned! 

NATE 

And it's about time the nation waked up to 
what me and mine has done for it. 

HINES 

That's just the point I was coming to. We 
have decided, with your permission, Mr. Fisher, 
to hold a large public demonstration of Pride 
and Sorrow, a military funeral, the expenses of 
which, I am authorized to say, will be borne 
jointly by the Bugle, Congressman-elect Foss, 
and the Honorable Theodore Q. Wilkinson, our 
Democratic candidate for sheriff at the coming 
county elections. 

MARTY 

Seems to me the offer ain't to be sneezed at. 

HINES 

To be perfectly frank, that's the way I look 
at it. 

NATE 

No! 

ELMIRA 

You mean you ain't going to let them? 

NATE 

They can't pay me off cheap and make a good 
thing out of it for themselves at the same time. 

HINES 

Am I to understand — 

NATE 

You're to understand you can't make nothing 
1 80 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

off me. I've suffered enough for my country 
and been disowned by it. I ain't going to sit 
by and see my own son's funeral turned into a 
rally for the Democratic party that wouldn't 
lift a finger to get me my just rights. No, sir! 
He'll be buried with only family members and 
close personal friends attending, and if there's 
any credit coming, it ain't going to the bunch 
of political shysters that has turned me down. 

HINES 

I give you my word, Mr. Fisher — 

MARTY 

Nate's right for once. If he lets you pull votes 
for Ted Wilkinson and boom the circulation of 
the Bugle, there ought to be something in it 
besides brass bands and immortelles. 

NATE 

I've given my own flesh and blood that might 
have been a comfort and a support to me in 
my old age. 

ELMIRA 

It's no more'n right they should do something 
for him. 

HINES 

I'm deeply pained by your attitude, deeply 
disappointed. 

MARTY 

It don't seem exactly fair we should deprive 
the Squire of a chance to make a couple of 
speeches. 

HINES 

The committee are at the Bugle office now, 
drafting a set of resolutions which we had in- 
tended to present later in the day. I feel, how- 
181 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

ever, that under the circumstances any further 
offer from us might be misunderstood. 

MARTY 

You needn't be shy about making a proposi- 
tion. This ain't a sensitive family. 
hines (to Nate) 

In that case may I venture to suggest that if 
Mr. Foss would undertake to push your own 
claim for a pension, and that if the Bugle 
would draft and circulate a petition endorsing 
it?— 

ELMIRA 

Do you mean that? 

MARTY 

There's sixteen hundred dollars of back pension 
due him, according to his own reckoning. 

HINES 

I dare say the Government will not be niggardly 
in its recognition of your brother's patriotic 
service when the facts are presented by the 
proper persons. 

NATE 

I ain't saying it's a bargain. 

ELMIRA 

If there was some way of fixing it so as Nate's 
pension was mentioned in the resolutions, and 
Mr. Foss couldn't crawl out of it afterwards. 

MARTY 

I always said that woman had ought to been a 
lawyer. 

HINES 

Well? 

NATE 

Mebbe, if you could fix it like Elmira says. 
182 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

hines (glancing at his watch) 

Done! A public funeral it is, then. (He has 
lost his unctuousnesS) and the others have ap- 
parently lost sight of the gravity of the event upon 
which they are basing their bargain^) I'll be 
back in fifteen minutes with the committee. 

NATE 

I ain't promising nothing yet. 
hines (genially) 

That, sir, to put it vulgarly, is up to us. Good 
morning, all. 

(He goes briskly out at the street door. Elmira 
goes to the window and looks after him.) 

elmira (thoughtfully) 

Eighty-seven dollars from sixteen hundred — 

MARTY 

I never thought twenty minutes ago I'd be the 
uncle of a hero and the brother of a bonyfidy 
pensioned veteran. (He fills his pipe.) 

ELMIRA 

Well, it won't benefit you none. You'll pay 
your keep out of what you can earn for vou- 
self, same as ever. 

MARTY 

Mebbe so, and then again, mebbe not. (He 
strikes a match.) 

ELMIRA 

Don't you dast light that pipe in here! 

MARTY 

Aw, close your face! 

NATE 

It's hard enough to lose an only son, without 
hearing you two jawing each other. 

183 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

MARTY 

Yes, and mebbe it's a darn sight harder'n you 
think to lose a son like yours. 

ELMIRA 

What d'you mean by that? 

MARTY 

There's a little piece of business has got to be 

settled amongst ourselves before the Squire gets 

back with them resolutions. 
nate {suspiciously) 

Eh! 
marty {going to the bedroom door and opening it) 

Hey! Come out of there. 

{Toady appears in the doorway. Nate and 
Elmira regard him in speechless consternation^) 

TOADY 

Howdy, Pa. 

nate {bitterly) 

So! You wasn't killed, after all? 

MARTY 

At least his face ain't any worse mutilated than 
usual. Come on, Toady; don't be bashful. 
You ain't buried yet. 

ELMIRA 

I might have known there was some mistake. 

NATE 

Mistake nothing! It's a game they put up on 
me, the two of 'em. Yes, and Hines was in it, 
and Foss, and the hull damn bunch, like as not. 

TOADY 

No they wasn't. 

MARTY 

This here is just a quiet family funeral. {He 
184 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

begins turning the pages of the family album on 
the tabled) 

NATE 

I'll — I'll get even with you. I'll — 

TOADY 

There's gratitude for you. 

ELMIRA 

I like your impudence. 

TOADY 

It ain't every son has done as much for his old 
man as I've done for you, pa. 

NATE 

I'll call the constable and have you in jail. 
Yes, sir, and I'll have Marty — 

MARTY 

You needn't pay no further attention to me. 

(He extracts a photograph from the album and 
goes to the small table, where he opens a drawer 
and takes out a hammer and some tacks?) 

nate (to Toady) 

You heard what I said. Now git! 

TOADY 

I ain't in no particular rush. You can't pin 
nothing on me. I'll tell 'em Aunt Elmira 
swiped your fifty dollars for the Baptist mis- 
sion. 

(Marty draws a chair to the side of the room, 
climbs on it, and begins tacking up the photo- 
graph in a conspicuous place.) 

ELMIRA 

You're a deserter from the United States Army. 
They'll get you for that, anyhow. 

i8 5 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

TOADY 

Say, you make me laugh. When I heard old 
Hiny shooting off that bunk about me wading 
acrost the Rio Grandy with a flag in my mit, 
you could have butchered me with a dish rag. 

marty (pointing with his hammer to the flags over 
Nate's crayon portrait) 
Will you reach me them flags, Elmira, please? 

elmira (turning) 

Eh? Land of Goshen, what are you doing on 
my best chair. 

MARTY 

Just putting up an old photo of the dear de- 
parted for his loving relatives to admire. 

(He gets down from the chair and goes for the flags 

himself.) 

TOADY 

That's right. You'd ought to have a decorated 
picture of the Hero of Santa Maria. I guess 
you can't jump over Uncle Marty for a sob 
artist. 
elmira (advancing on Toady) 

I'm going to get to the inside of this, if I have 
to shake the skin off you. 

TOADY 

Hold on, will you? I'm busy. (He turns to 
Marty, who has returned with the flags and has 
begun adjusting them.) Say, Unk, you're stick- 
ing them flags a little crooked. 

NATE 

If Hines and Foss ain't putting up a game on 
me, how'll I look when they find out? 
1 86 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

TOADY 

I guess that's something you got to figure out 
for yourself. 

NATE 

You've fixed my chances for a pension. It's a 
conspiracy! 

ELMIRA 

Yes, and Marty was in it. 

MARTY 

So help me, I never laid eyes on Toady till he 
came tapping at my window last night. 

ELMIRA 

You needn't tell me. 

TOADY 

If you all shut up, I'll give you the straight 
dope. On the level, I will. 

MARTY 

Make it short if you don't want your pa to 
have apoplexy. 

TOADY 

I met a feller in the park one night last winter. 

ELMIRA 

What park? 

TOADY 

Madison Square Park, New York City. He 
was a little red-headed feller with bow legs, 
and say, but he had a bad eye, believe me! 
His name was Christian Dane O'Houlihan. 

ELMIRA 

What's that got to do with it? 

TOADY 

For cat's sake, who's telling this, me or you? 

NATE 

Let him alone. 

187 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

TOADY 

"Gee," I sez to him, "if I had a flossy label like 
yours, I bet I wouldn't have to be no free 
lunch hound." "If you like it," he sez, "you're 
welcome to it. You can't do no worse with it 
than what I've done. If I had a nice, plain 
name like Edward Martin Fisher, I'd go and 
enlist in the cavalry with it." "Go ahead," I 
sez, "you're on." So we swapped names, and 
I got a job washing dishes in a dairy lunch. 

MARTY 

And the red-headed feller's getting shipped 
from Santa Maria, via El Paso, Texas, to be 
buried at the expense of the local option Dem- 
ocrats of Forkville, Indiana. 

TOADY 

I guess that's about the answer. My name 
was more unluckier than his'n. 

ELMIRA 

What did you come back for? Why couldn't 
you let the only sensible thing you ever done 
stay done? 

TOADY 

Oh, I got a heart, all right. I almost had a 
mind to light out and keep my mouth shut 
when I saw how puffed up Pa was over having 
me killed. I'd have done it, too, only I heard 
you driving that bargain with Hines about my 
funeral. 

ELMIRA 

Well, what do you want? I know you want 
something. 

TOADY 

I give you just one guess. 
188 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

NATE 

No, sir, I don't give him a cent. I'll be doing 
my country another service by putting a crook 
like him behind the bars. 
toady {cheerfully) 

All right. Turn me up, and blooie goes the 
pension. 

MARTY 

You sort of owe it to the family reputation, 
Nate, to keep him dead. 

ELMIRA 

If your pa gives you twenty-five dollars, will 
you get out and leave us be? 

TOADY 

Come around to the other ear. You don't talk 
loud enough. 

NATE 

I tell you I won't be a party to no fraud. 

ELMIRA 

That ain't the question. When he's gone, we 
can decide what's best according to our own 
conscience. 

MARTY 

I'd like to put some money on the way 'Miry's 
conscience'll jump. 
elmira {to Toady , paying no attention to Marty) 
Suppose he makes it fifty dollars? 

TOADY 

What d'you take me for, a boob? I guess I 
know what me and the red-headed feller has 
done for Pa, all right. Twenty-five per cent 
cash. Them's my best terms. {He turns and 
surveys the decorated portrait.) Say, Uncle 
Marty, that looks swell. 
189 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

ELMIRA 

I never heard such gall in my life. 

TOADY 

I want four hundred dollars, or I'll walk down 
the street to Hopper's Hotel, and get drunk 
where the hull town'll see me. 

NATE 

That's a fine way for a son to talk to his father. 
Here's Hines and Foss, come around to do the 
right thing, after ten years' crookedness, and 
just when it's all fixed up for me to get my 
just deserts — 

MARTY 

Hold on! 

ELMIRA 

Yes, and mebbe your pa'd have got his pension 
long ago, except for your carryings on, putting 
everybody against us. 

TOADY 

Don't make me laugh. Everybody's heard how 
Pa tried to buy a substitute when he was 
drafted, only he couldn't raise the coin. 

NATE 

That's a lie, you blackmailing young skunk! 

TOADY 

I got my feelings the same as other people, and 
just for that word "skunk" it'll cost you an 
extra hundred before I leave this house. 

MARTY 

They'll be back here any minute with them 
resolutions. 
nate {rising) 
I'll— I'll— 

190 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

MARTY 

You'll get your regular thirty a month all the 
same. 
nate {to. Toady) 

I'll — I'll — take a stick to you. I'll beat you 
till there ain't a hull bone in your carcass. 

{He seizes his stick.) 

TOADY 

All right, sail in. I could lick you with one 
hand, but I'll let you beat me if you want to. 

(Nate makes a move toward Toady.) 

ELMIRA 

For the love of heaven, Nate, be careful. 

TOADY 

Only for every belt you give me I'll holler like 
the Bull of Basham. We'll have all the neigh- 
bors in here to see you basting the Hero of 
Santa Maria. 

{Nate stands trembling with rage, the stick 
clutched in his hand.) 

MARTY 

Walloping the corpbe back to life'll settle things 
quick enough. 

{A band is heard faintly in the distance. Elmira 
puts her hand suddenly to her heart.) 

ELMIRA 

Glory be! What's that? 
{They all listen a moment.) 

MARTY 

It's Heinie coming back with his bandwagon 
load of Pride and Sorrow. 
13 191 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

toady {cheerfully) 

Well, Pa, what's the good word? 

NATE 

You — you — 

TOADY 

I meant to be easy on you, but when they turn 
the courthouse corner, I'll have to make it 
eight hundred for the suspense you're causing 
me. 
nate (inarticulate with rage) 
You'll— you'll— 

(The music grows suddenly louder?) 

MARTY 

There they go around the corner into Main 
Street. 
elmira (wringing her hands) 

You better give in, Nate. Three-quarters is 
better'n nothing. 

TOADY 

It ain't three-quarters any longer. I've been 
reasonable and honest, but you've kind of 
pushed me too far. I've got to have eight 
hundred cold, iron dollars. 

ELMIRA 

We ain't got four hundred to our names, let 
alone eight hundred. 

(The band stops , and there is only the sound of 
the drums tapping a slow march,) 

TOADY 

I'll take one hundred in cash and Pa's note for 
eight hundred, six months at seven per cent in- 
terest. Seven hundred to the order of Christian 
192 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

Dane O'Houlihan, that's me, for services 
rendered, and the rest to Uncle Marty for 
acting as my agent. How's that, Marty? 

MARTY 

Sounds fair to me. 

TOADY 

Marty can hold the notes, and if they ain't 
taken up on the dot, I'll come back and we'll 
all get jugged together for defrauding the 
Government. 
marty {at the window) 

You better decide pretty quick, Nate. They're 
almost in front of the house. 

NATE 

No, by God! You can't rob a man that's been 
honest all his life. I'll — 

MARTY 

They're stopping in the gate. Foss has got his 
plug hat on. 

NATE 

They ain't here any too quick to suit me. I'll 
have the both of you up for robbery and black- 
mail. 

ELMIRA 

You'd better think what you're doing, Nate. 

NATE 

That's fine advice for a deaconess to give, 
ain't it? 

ELMIRA 

I'm only thinking what's best in the end. 

NATE 

No, sir! I'm honest, and I'll see you all damned 
before I'll— 

193 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

toady {soothingly) 

It's all right, Pa. I know you ain't yourself. 
I'm going back in Uncle Marty's room, and if 
you want to go through with it, the stuff's on. 
I mean it. I'll skin out tonight and stay a 
corpse. {He picks up the bottle of beer from the 
table.) Of course if you want me to come and 
get pinched, all you got to do is call me. 

nate {sullenly) 

I ain't saying what I'll do. 

{There is another knock. Toady goes into the 
bedroom and closes the door softly. Elmira goes 
to the street door and opens it, disclosing Foss y 
Hines, and Wilkinson. Foss wears a frock coat 
and carries a silk hat in one hand and a roll of 
papers in the other. The three dignitaries ad- 
vance into the room. Behind them is a group of 
neighbors framed in the doorway. Wilkinson 
shakes Nate by the hand rather abruptly and 
awkwardly?) 

Wilkinson {attempting to come at once to the point) 
Howdy, Mr. Fisher. The Squire's {he indicates 
Hines with a hitch of his thumb) already put you 
wise to what we're here for. 

hines {cutting in on Wilkinson and taking Nate's 
reluctant hand) 

Quite so! {He points to the decorated portrait?) 
See, gentlemen, what loving hands have al- 
ready done. Nothing we can say or do more 
sincerely voices the poignancy of this moment 
than those simple flags and that simple photo- 
graph. 

194 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

foss {taking Nates hand in turn) 

In this room, sir, where the hero of Santa 
Maria so recently lived and had his being, 
{Marty glances apprehensively at the bedroom 
door) our sympathy must seem a poor and in- 
adequate thing — 

NATE 

I ain't said I wanted your sympathy, I — 
elmira {cutting in) 

Don't mind what he says, Mr. Foss. He's 

been that upset — 
foss {still wringing Nate's hand) 

Spartan firmness, M'am. I admire him for it. 

WILKINSON 

IT1 just leave some of my campaign cards on 
your table, in case the neighbors — 

{Hines shoots him an ugly look.) 

FOSS 

We will not intrude on you long, Mr. Fisher. 
I have delegated myself — 

WILKINSON 

Been delegated. 

FOSS 

Been delegated by the citizens of Forkville to 
act as their spokesman on this solemn occasion 
and to read you these er — {He adjusts his 
eyeglasses.) 

WILKINSON 

You'll find them O. K., Mr. Fisher. 

HINES 

We have inserted a clause explicitly recogniz- 
ing your own patriotic services. 
195 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

MARTY 

D'you hear that, Nate? 

NATE 

Yes, I hear it. But I got something to say 
first. 

(E/mira plants a chair against the bedroom door 
and sits down in it.) 

foss (unrolling his document) 

Spare yourself, my friend. We all know the 
strain you've been laboring under. Perhaps, 
later at the public demonstration — 

(Nate glances at him.) 

HINES 

The Governor and Senator Tinblatter have 
wired us — 

WILKINSON 

Say, that's a fine stunt. A little talk, eh? 
Telling the folks how Edward was always a 
good Democrat. 

(Nate glares at him.) 

HINES 

The Governor and Senator Tinblatter have 
wired us, promising to speak. Perhaps after 
that. 

ELMIRA 

D'you hear, Nate? The Governor and Senator 
Tinblatter. 

NATE 

I ain't said there'd be no demonstration. 

MARTY 

You'll be getting telegrams from Washington 
next. 

196 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

WILKINSON 

You bet! Joe Finks is on the piazza now with 
a fist full. 

{A man steps forward from the group in the door- 
way and hands Nate a packet of yellow envelopes. 
Nate looks at them helplessly?) 

MARTY 

The hull Democratic party's going to see this 

thing done up right. 
foss {clearing his throat and reading from the 

paper) 

We, the citizens of Forkville, Indiana, offer the 

following: Whereas, this day has become for 

us a day of er — 
marty {under his breath) 

Pride and sorrow. 
elmira {to Marty) 

Shut up! 

FOSS 

Whereas, facing his country's foes on foreign 
soil, Edward Martin Fisher, son of our respected 
citizen, Nathan Fisher, himself an intrepid de- 
fender of our national existence in the Civil 
War, yesterday gave up his life; 
Whereas, by his courageous death and ex- 
ample, the said Edward Martin Fisher has per- 
formed an inestimable service to each and 
everyone of us — 

MARTY 

That's right! 

FOSS 

Be it resolved, that we evidence our esteem 
and gratitude to the bereaved father by cir- 
197 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

culating an endorsement of his own claim to 
the proper and lawful pension heretofore un- 
accountably denied him by the National Gov- 
ernment. 

And be it further and finally resolved, that 
Edward Martin Fisher be buried with full 
military honors and all other tokens of love 
and respect of which this city and the Sovereign 
State of Indiana are capable. 
(Signed.) Bernard P. Foss, 

Member of Congress, 
James Merryweather Hines, 
Theodore Q. Wilkinson, 

Committee on Arrangements. 

(Foss rolls up the paper. Elmira, unable to 
stand the tension, sobs in partial hysteria. Nate's 
face has undergone various changes during the 
reading. He is rapidly losing his desire for re- 
venge on Toady under the influence of the adula- 
tion of his neighbors. He stands undecided^ 
crumpling the telegrams in his hand?) 

WILKINSON 

I guess that about covers it. 

(They all regard Nate as if expecting a definite 
answer.) 

marty (seeing that Nate has practically given in) 
You better say something, Nate. 

NATE 

I — I don't know exactly how to put it, gentle- 
men — 

MARTY 

You was mighty keen to talk a minute ago. 
198 



THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA 

elmira (between her sobs, afraid that Marty may 
spoil everything) 
Let him alone, can't you? 

NATE 

It's all come on me sort of sudden-like, but I 
guess I know what I done for the United States 
— yes, and what my son Edward done for 'em, 
too. 

THE CROWD IN THE DOORWAY 

Hear! Hear! 

NATE 

I'd kind of set my heart on a — a — 

MARTY 

A quiet family funeral — 

FOSS 

Exactly, but under the circumstances — 

NATE 

It ain't for me to set myself up against what's 
expected of me. 
Wilkinson (extending his hand) 
Put it here, Mr. Fisher. 

HINES 

Then we're to understand? 

NATE 

I reckon I got to accept your resolutions. 
foss (shaking Nate by the hand) 

I can see how, sir, that your son was a chip off 
the old block. 

MARTY 

That's about the truest thing anybody's said yet. 
CURTAIN 



199 



ALL GUMMED UP 

A SATIRICAL COMEDY 

by Harry Wagstaff Gribble 



CHARACTERS 

George Bartlett, a Liver Specialist 

Minter, his Assistant 

Henrietta Tremayne, 

Geoffrey Tremayne, her Husband^ a Pianist 

Gloria Bartlett, George's Wife 

Time: The Present 

Scene: Bartlett' s Consulting Room 



Copyright, 192 i, by HARRY WAGSTAFF GRIBBLE 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Applications for permission to produce this play should be addressed 

to Harry Wagstaff Gribble, 168 Waverley Place, New York City. 

No performance may be given without his written consent. 



ALL GUMMED UP 

scene: 

There is a door leading into the ante-room up R. 
Another door leading to another part of the house 
up L, at the back. A desk over L. C, with a desk- 
chair behind it. Fireplace at the back, C. A 
settee over R. C. An armchair to L of fireplace 
and a small chair to R of fireplace. To the L of 
the settee and slightly above it is a smoker s table 
and set. Behind the settee is a small table with a 
lamp on it. The window is over L, behind the 
desk. On the desk are a cigar ash-tray, writing 
materials, a desk-lamp, and a note pad, and at the 
rise a small, oblong tin box. 

As the curtain rises, Bartlett is discovered asleep 
in the chair behind his desk, with his feet up on the 
desk. 

Enter Minter. Minter crosses and pulls down the 
window shade. He puts a tin box in a drawer of 
the desk. 

MINTER 

Seven o'clock, Mr. Bartlett. {Bartlett does not 
answer. Shaking Bartlett.) Mr. Bartlett! 

BARTLETT 

Eh? What? 

MINTER 

Seven o'clock. {Minter switches on desk-lamp.) 

BARTLETT 

Morning or evening? 

203 



ALL GUMMED UP 



MINTER 

Evening. (Minter crosses and tidies cushions 
on settee ', afterwards switching on lamp behind 
settee.) 

BARTLETT 

Have I had my supper? 

MINTER 

Yes. 

BARTLETT 

Well, I'm still hungry. How do you account 
for that? 

MINTER 

It's your liver. 

BARTLETT 

You can't tell me anything about my liver. 
minter (^re-crossing to desk and taking ash-tray and 
shaking ashes into fireplace) 
If I could, I should be a liver specialist and you 
my assistant — instead of vice versa. 

BARTLETT 

My wife's going to the theater tonight, isn't 
she? 

MINTER 

Yes. And you are going with her. 

BARTLETT 

Who said so? 

MINTER 

She did. 

BARTLETT 

She's usually right. 

MINTER 

Her choice is excellent — with a few exceptions. 
{Glancing at him,) 

204 



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bartlett (not noticing the "dig") 
Theaters, for instance. She likes those noisy 
plays that won't allow one to sleep. 

MINTER 

It would take several brass bands to keep you 
awake. 

BARTLETT 

What's the use of keeping awake ? Nothing ever 
happens nowadays. 

MINTER 

Doesn't it? You're too sleepy to notice any- 
thing. 

BARTLETT 

What do you mean? 

MINTER 

Did you ever realize that people suffer from love 
as well as from liver? 

BARTLETT 

Who the dickens is in love? 

MINTER {going) 

Keep awake and you'll find out. 

BARTLETT 

Minter, do you know why I continue to employ 
you? 

MINTER 

Because I continue to stay with you. 

BARTLETT 

You haven't even mentioned leaving. 

MINTER 

I shouldn't mention it. I should go. 

BARTLETT 

I think you had better go. You are getting too 
fresh. 

205 



ALL GUMMED UP 



MINTER 

What time for breakfast? 

BARTLETT 

Breakfast won't concern you. 

MINTER 

It never does. I don't take it. What time for 
yours ? 

BARTLETT 

Minter, you're discharged. Here's your salary. 

MINTER 

Well, we'll say eight o'clock. 

BARTLETT 

Do you mean that you refuse to be discharged? 

MINTER 

You had better get dressed for the theater. 

BARTLETT 

Minter, you are almost impertinent. Try to re- 
member the difference in our stations. {Door- 
bell rings.) 

MINTER 

There's the door-bell. Will you answer it? 

BARTLETT 

What do you mean? 

MINTER 

That's the difference in our stations. (Exit.) 
bartlett (rising and walking slowly to fireplace, 
where he puts on a pair of slippers) 
Life would be very pleasant and peaceful if it 
were not for Minter. But he's an evil — an evil 
necessity. (Re-enter Minter.) 

MINTER 

A lady to see you, Mr. Bartlett. 

BARTLETT 

I'm not consulting. It's after hours. 
206 



ALL GUMMED UP 



MINTER 

Sorry. Too late. Here she is. {Enter Henrietta 
Tremayne.) 

BART LETT 

How do you do? 

HENRIETTA 

How do you do? 
bartlett {bringing small chair from fireplace to R 
of desk) 
Won't you sit down? 

MINTER 

The lady is not a patient. 

BARTLETT 

You can go, Minter. 

MINTER 

Sorry I spoke. Thought I'd put you wise. 

BARTLETT 

I'm waiting. 

MINTER 

All right. But don't forget. It isn't liver — it's 
love. {Exit Minter.) 

BARTLETT 

Please pardon this exhibition of ignorance. I'm 
getting rid of him shortly. 

HENRIETTA 

Oh, please don't. He's such a nice fellow. So 
handsome, and so alert. 

BARTLETT 

He's very alert in answering the door-bell; but 
he can't even do that without boasting about it. 

HENRIETTA 

He understood me at once. 

BARTLETT 

Urn! 

11 207 



ALL GUMMED UP 



HENRIETTA 

I know it's a scandalous hour to call on you, but 
I told him that it was a very important matter 
and he showed me in. 

BARTLETT 

Um! What can I do for you? 

HENRIETTA 

Of course, you know my husband. 

BARTLETT 

I haven't even the pleasure of knowing you — 
as yet. 

HENRIETTA 

My name is Tremayne. My husband is Geoffrey 
Tremayne — the musician. 

BARTLETT 

Oh, yes. I believe my wife took me to hear him 
sing one day. 

HENRIETTA 

No, no. Play the piano. He's a very fine 
pianist. 

BARTLETT 

Oh! My impression was that he sang. Per- 
haps someone else did. Music always confuses 
me. 

HENRIETTA 

Well, it was about Geoffrey that I came to see 
you. 

BARTLETT 

Quite so. Pianists are frequently troubled with 
liver complaint. Chiefly owing to the sedentary 
life they lead. He should take a course in danc- 
ing, and after every sixth scale, or arpeggio, 
should do a buck and wing, or a little Russian 
208 



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ballet. If you had time you could shimmie with 
him — that would be better still. 

HENRIETTA 

Oh, no, his liver is perfectly all right. 

BARTLETT 

Then your husband cannot interest me, 
madam. I specialize in the liver solely. 

HENRIETTA 

He's as sound as a bell, physically. It's his 
mental condition I want to talk to you about. 
You see, he's desperately in love. 

BARTLETT 

Don't do anything for it. It will cure itself. 

HENRIETTA 

Oh, perhaps you think he's in love with me. 
Not at present. Just now he's in love with your 
wife. 

BARTLETT 

Well, that's a perfectly natural and healthy 
sentiment. My wife is a very attractive girl, 
and anyone who was immune to her beauty 
would probably be suffering from some liver 
complaint. 

HENRIETTA 

Then you have no objection to their affection 
for each other. I'm so glad. 

BARTLETT 

"Their affection" — I was not aware that my 
wife reciprocated the attachment. 

HENRIETTA 

No, I thought not. Well, she does. 

BARTLETT 

I think there must be some mistake. My wife 
209 



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is always most confidential, and she hasn't even 
mentioned the matter. 

HENRIETTA 

Well, Geoffrey is a very straightforward boy. 
He never lies to me, and he wouldn't tell me it 
was so if he weren't sure. 

BARTLETT 

What is the program? Do I blacken your hus- 
band's eye, or do you tear my wife's hair? 

HENRIETTA 

It was to avoid those very things that I came 
to see you. My husband is coming to call on 
you, and I want you to promise not to injure 
him in any way. I shall behave wonderfully 
to your wife. 

BARTLETT 

But shouldn't we be committing a social error 
by taking it so calmly? 

HENRIETTA 

The only way for us to cover up their social error 
is by committing one ourselves. Besides, why 
should they corner all the publicity? We should 
create a sensation by remaining perfectly calm. 

BARTLETT 

You seem quite certain that you and I should 
make a good partnership in this affair. I hope 
your proposals are strictly businesslike. 

HENRIETTA 

Absolutely. Don't you see that directly we in- 
troduce emotion we lose our calm. In fact, our 
calm is essential to balance their emotion. 

BARTLETT 

You have somewhat relieved my mind. 
210 



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HENRIETTA 

Of course, we could have a little intrigue on the 
side, just to amuse ourselves, and to complicate 
matters for them. 

BARTLETT 

I begin to be frightened again. 

HENRIETTA 

Please retain your calm. I wouldn't have sug- 
gested an intrigue had I not thought I could 
trace an element of sport in you. (Rising, and 
crossing to sofa, where she sits at head of it.) 

BARTLETT 

Oh, my dear lady, did you ever hear of a sporty 
liver specialist? 

HENRIETTA 

No; I never expected you to be like this. 
bartlett (crossing C) 

Er — of course, if we enter into this agreement, 
we do it for the sake of our respective conjugal 
partners — not for each other's — nor for our 
own. 

HENRIETTA 

Absolutely, it's entirely unselfish. 

BARTLETT 

My wife, Gloria, is a very delightful girl, and 
the only reason I specialized in livers was to be 
able to shower her with the fees from my 
wealthy liverish clients. 

HENRIETTA 

Oh, that's nothing. I have sued every street- 
car company, and several of the Railroads, for 
self-inflicted sprained ankles, and obtained 
damages in each case, merely to provide 
Geoffrey with European musical vacations. 

211 



ALL GUMMED UP 



BARTLETT 

What a noble woman ! We certainly have some- 
thing in common. {Sitting by her.) 

HENRIETTA 

Oh, you are quite different from what I ex- 
pected. 

BARTLETT 

I think you are the first woman who has really 
interested me — except Gloria. 

HENRIETTA 

You are almost the only man who has ever at- 
tracted me — except Geoffrey. 

BARTLETT 

What was it in me which suggested to you sport 
or intrigue? 

HENRIETTA 

Oh, now you are getting inquisitive. 

BARTLETT 

Very inquisitive. 

HENRIETTA 

Well, I'll tell you. It's in your eye. 

BARTLETT 

Really! 

HENRIETTA 

Yes. It's more in the way you look at a person. 
You seem to search one's very liver — er, I mean 
soul. 

BARTLETT 

I'm trying to search you now for your idea of an 
intrigue. 

HENRIETTA 

You are dying to be a sport. 
212 



ALL GUMMED UP 



BARTLETT 

It isn't the intrigue itself — it's your idea of one 
— which interests me. 

HENRIETTA 

Then I'll tell you. For a long time I have been 
looking for someone to share with me a secret 
passion. I believe you are the person. 

BARTLETT 

You amaze me. 

HENRIETTA 

It's no ordinary passion. The famous sirens, 
adventuresses, and vampires never experienced 
a desire such as mine. Their cravings were by 
comparison as mild as a child's longing for 
sweets. 

BARTLETT 

I really think that I had better back out. 

HENRIETTA 

Oh, please don't. The force of my craving is all 
in the desire — the object is very simple — merely 
gum. 

BARTLETT 

Gum? 

HENRIETTA 

Yes, gum — chewing gum. Plain, ordinary gum 
will do, but I delight in the fancy kinds — the 
refreshing spearmint, the sensuous clove, the 
juicy tutti-frutti. My husband knows of my 
passion, and thwarts me at every turn. He 
won't have a piece of gum in the house. He 
would rather I eloped to Honolulu with a bar- 
tender than chew one little morsel of gum. But, 
now that he is seeking his independence, don't 
you think my emancipation is justifiable? 
213 



ALL GUMMED UP 



BARTLETT 

Why, yes, and the amazing coincidence is just 
this, that I, too, have the same craving, and am 
thwarted by my wife in the same manner. 

HENRIETTA 

Oh, I knew I had come to the right man. Di- 
rectly I saw you I knew you were my chewing- 
gum mate. 

bartlett {going to desk and opening drawer, takes 
out box of gum) 

I'm almost afraid to show this to anyone. I 
have kept it hidden so long. {Showing ^er the 
box.) 

HENRIETTA 

Oh — oh — how marvelous! Give me some! 

BARTLETT 

Be careful! Gloria might come in at any mo- 
ment, and then there would be a terrible scene. 

HENRIETTA 

Oh, what do we care for Gloria, or Geoffrey, or 
anyone. Let's be rash — let us abandon our- 
selves to our delight. {She takes a piece and un- 
wraps it, handing it to Bartlett. He does the same 
thing for her.) Oh, what rapture! 

BARTLETT 

It has a wonderful thrill, hasn't it? 

HENRIETTA 

This publicity will never do. We must meet in 
some secret place. What about the subway? 

BARTLETT 

You are right. There is no secrecy like the se- 
crecy of a crowd. 

214 



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HENRIETTA 

A long trip. Just you and I and our gum. Say 
to the Bronx Zoo. 

BARTLETT 

Oh, no. The animals stare so. They always 
remind me of my aunts at a prayer-meeting. 

HENRIETTA 

Well, then Van Cortlandt Park 

BARTLETT 

It shall be. {Enter Minter.) 

MINTER 

Better break away — the third party is here. 

{Bartlett and the Lady rise.) 

BARTLETT 

What the — How dare you interrupt without 
knocking? 

MINTER 

For the simple reason that if I had knocked he 
would have known that you were here. I 
wanted to warn you. You had better beat it. 
I think he has a gun. 

BARTLETT 

Who? 

MINTER 

Her lawfully wedded husband. 

BARTLETT 

Oh — show him in. 

MINTER 

What? 

BARTLETT 

Show him in. 

MINTER 

On second thoughts I'll take my salary. {Bart- 
lett gives him some notes.) Here's my gun. {Takes 
215 



ALL GUMMED UP 



his gun out of his pocket.) Good-bye. {Exit. 
Bartlett puts gun in drawer?) 

BART LETT 

Are you nervous? 

HENRIETTA 

Of Geoffrey ? Not now that you know my secret. 
{Re-enter Minter with Geoffrey.) 

MINTER 

Mr. Tremayne. 
Geoffrey {to Bartlett) 

How do you do ? {Seeing Henrietta.) Henrietta ! 
What is the meaning of this ? 

HENRIETTA 

Oh, Geoff, you bad boy, you've come out with- 
out your overcoat. 

MINTER 

It's all right. I'm keeping it for him. 

HENRIETTA 

Thank you so much, Mr. Minter. 

MINTER 

Not at all. I'm delighted to do anything for 
you. 

BARTLETT 

Minter, you can go. 

MINTER 

I know it. {Exit.) 

BARTLETT 

Please be seated, Mr. Tremayne. 

GEOFFREY 

No, thank you. Henrietta, what are you doing 
here? 

BARTLETT 

Mrs. Tremayne had the goodness to call on me 
with reference to her liver. 
216 



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GEOFFREY 

That's not true. She has no liver. 

BARTLETT 

Dear, dear! That makes her still more interest- 
ing. 

GEOFFREY 

Henrietta, you're chewing! 

HENRIETTA 

Just a little, dear. 

GEOFFREY 

How disgusting, Mr. Bartlett; I must apologize 
for my wife. 

BARTLETT 

Not at all. You find me in the same condition. 
In fact I gave it to her. 
Geoffrey (to Henrietta) 

You had better leave me alone with Mr. Bart- 
lett. 

HENRIETTA 

Certainly. Where shall I wait? 

BARTLETT 

Oh, please stay. All the other rooms are so 
draughty. 

HENRIETTA 

I don't mind draughts. I'll go and talk to Mr. 
Minter. Now, Geoff, take care of yourself, and 
Mr. Bartlett, don't upset him, will you? {Exit.) 

GEOFFREY 

My wife leaves me in a very awkward position. 

BARTLETT 

Well, sit down and make yourself comfortable. 

GEOFFREY 

I don't wish to be comfortable. I have a very 
serious matter to discuss. 
217 



ALL GUMMED UP 



BARTLETT 

Quite so. I'm always more serious myself when 
I'm uncomfortable. 

GEOFFREY 

I hope you will not make fun of me. It's a very 
difficult situation. What was my wife telling 
you? 

BARTLETT 

About what? 

GEOFFREY 

About me — and my affairs? 

BARTLETT 

Oh, she said you sold pianos — 

GEOFFREY 

No, sir. I play them. 

BARTLETT 

I knew you did something to them. 

GEOFFREY 

Was your wife's name introduced — 

BARTLETT 

In connection with the pianos? 

GEOFFREY 

No, no — in connection with me? 

BARTLETT 

Now, let me see — 

GEOFFREY 

Well, if my wife tried to influence you in any 
way with regard to a matter which she knows I 
intend to put to you, I warn you not to let it 
have any weight. 

BARTLETT 

No — of course not. 

GEOFFREY 

Because, sir, I am adamant. 
218 



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BARTLETT 

You are. Have a cigar? 

GEOFFREY 

No, thank you. 

BARTLETT 

A cigarette? 

GEOFFREY 

No, thank you. 

BARTLETT 

How is the piano game? 

GEOFFREY 

What piano game? 

BARTLETT 

The piano game in general? 

GEOFFREY 

Look here, Mr. Bartlett, you are evidently in 
the dark as to my mission here. 

BARTLETT 

A man of your charm needs no mission. 

GEOFFREY 

I have one just the same — Er — Er — I think 
you will admit to yourself, if not to me, that 
you are by nature, profession, and tempera- 
ment entirely unsuited to your wife's society. 

BARTLETT 

Absolutely unsuited. 
Geoffrey {taken aback) 

I'm glad to find you honest about so personal 
and yet so obvious a matter. 

BARTLETT 

We married men should be very thankful to be 
unsuited to our wives. A woman sticks to a man 
she can't understand. 

219 



ALL GUMMED UP 



GEOFFREY 

Are you sure? 

BARTLETT 

Yes — as long as no one else understands him. 

GEOFFREY 

I think I understand you. 

BARTLETT 

You re very clever. I don't understand my- 
self. 

GEOFFREY 

Do you understand your wife? 

BARTLETT 

Heaven forbid. She is the greatest study of my 
life. 

GEOFFREY 

Perhaps again I am clever — I think / under- 
stand Gloria. 

BARTLETT 

Well, you are accustomed to intricate mechan- 
ism. The piano must be very complicated. 

GEOFFREY 

Are you comparing Gloria to a piano? 

BARTLETT 

A piano has its limits. Gloria has none. 
Geoffrey {rising) 

She has reached her limit, Mr. Bartlett. 

BARTLETT 

For heaven's sake, has she exhausted all the 
plays and cabarets ? 

GEOFFREY 

Ah! that is your idea of Gloria — You have 
simply a superficial knowledge of her appetites. 
Let me tell you, you haven't begun to study her 
220 



ALL GUMMED UP 



soul! And while you have been neglecting her, 
I have studied and understood her soul. 

BARTLETT 

How interesting! Would you mind putting 
your result on one of my diagnosis forms? 

GEOFFREY 

Don't joke about it, Bartlett. This is a serious 
matter. Yes, to be brief, we are so suited to 
each other that it would be almost criminal for 
us to remain separated. 

BARTLETT 

Who? You and I? 

GEOFFREY 

No, no. Your wife and I. 

BARTLETT 

Oh, yes. 

GEOFFREY 

In fact it is essential for us to be together 
to fulfill our destiny. It would be useless for 
you to oppose us, for we should simply elope. 

BARTLETT 

Oh, yes. I remember now, your wife mentioned 
something of the sort. 

GEOFFREY 

She did? 

BARTLETT 

And then we began discussing a very important 
matter and it passed out of my mind. 

GEOFFREY 

Is your wife's future not an important matter? 

BARTLETT 

It is so important to have had a good past, and 
so interesting having a good present, that the 
future is bound to take a third place. 

221 



ALL GUMMED UP 



GEOFFREY 

Do you mean to say that you're countenancing 
my proposal? 

BARTLETT 

You said it was useless for me to oppose you. 

GEOFFREY 

You have no objections to a man coming into 
your house and taking your wife from under 
your very nose — a perfect stranger. 

BARTLETT 

I know nothing against you. You seem a nice 
clean-cut young man. If I knew you better I 
might have some objections to you. 

GEOFFREY 

But this is preposterous — it's — it's outrageous 
- — it's absolutely immoral. Surely you will put 
up some fight for your wife ! 

BARTLETT 

Well, Minter loaned me his revolver to defend 
myself against you. Now, I never used one of 
these things. Do you know how they work? 

GEOFFREY 

Are you trying to make an ass of me? 

BARTLETT 

No, no. I assure you, if it is the proper thing 
to do I'll shoot you. Where would you like to 
be shot? You see, if I kill you, you will be of no 
further use to Gloria. On the other hand, if I 
wound you severely, you will again be out of 
luck, because Gloria is an atrocious nurse. 

GEOFFREY 

I never heard anything as abominable in my 
life. I shan't waste another moment here. I 
222 



i 



ALL GUMMED UP 



shall go and fetch Gloria and take her away from 
you at once. 

BARTLETT 

Try and be back by June 20th, will you ? I al- 
ways take Gloria to visit my aunts at French 
Lick. She amuses them while I give them a 
liver treatment. 

GEOFFREY 

I've tried hard to control myself, Bartlett; but 
your utter contempt for the common decencies, 
your lack of appreciation of your wife, and your 
general unsoundness of mind are more than I 
can bear. Let me tell you that of all the inane 
idiots I have ever met — I have never in all my 
life — {Enter M inter.) 

MINTER 

Excuse me, but Mrs. Tremayne says not to 
strain your voice as you have to lecture tomor- 
row — also not to bang your fingers on the table, 
as that will spoil your touch. 

GEOFFREY 

What the devil are you doing out there with my 
wife? 

MINTER 

I was telling her of my troubles since I started 
taking care of other people's wives. 

GEOFFREY 

Oh, get out ! 

MINTER 

Don't forget about the voice. {Enter Gloria 
Bartlett.) 

GLORIA 

Good evening, Minter. Georgie, it's time to 
start for the theatre. Why, there's Geoff. How 
15 223 



ALL GUMMED UP 



are you ? {Goes over to him and pats his face. 
To Bartlett.) Darling! You aren't ready, and 
you know I like to hear the overture. He's a 
terrible trial, Geoff. I'll never be able to train 
him. 

GEOFFREY 

Gloria, come away from your husband. 

GLORIA 

From Georgie, why? Oh, I see. You've been 
chewing again! How bad of you! Throw the 
horrid stuff away! 

BARTLETT 

Yes, dear. {Throws his gum in waste basket.) 

GEOFFREY 

Gloria, what do you mean by this familiarity 
with that man? Do you realize why I came 
here tonight? 

GLORIA 

To meet him, I suppose. Have I interrupted a 
consultation? Oh, I'm so sorry. Geoff, there's 
nothing wrong with your liver, is there? 

GEOFFREY 

Do you suppose I should come to your husband 
about my liver ? 

GLORIA 

I can't think of anything else you would want 
to see him about. 

GEOFFREY 

Not even about you? 

GLORIA 

My liver's all right, isn't it, Georgie? 

GEOFFREY 

Have you gone out of your senses, or are you 
224 



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trying to fool me, because it won't work — I tell 
you — it won't work! 

GLORIA 

Whose liver won't work? Georgie, who's ill? 
What's the trouble? 

BARTLETT 

I think you have forgotten an appointment you 
had with Mr. Tremayne. 

GLORIA 

Oh dear, have I? 

BARTLETT 

He seems to think you made an agreement to 
elope with him. 

GLORIA 

Oh, that's perfectly true, I did. Yes, dear, we 
had a long talk the other evening and we de- 
cided it would be quite the latest thing for us to 
do. When shall we start, Geoff? 

GEOFFREY 

Heavens above — am I really the only honest 
person left? Am I to stay here and listen to a 
wife tell her husband that she is going to elope 
with me? 

GLORIA 

Well, Geoff, I'd have told him before, only I 
forgot. 

GEOFFREY 

I think you are the most impossible people I 
ever met; I wouldn't elope with you if you went 
on your knees and begged me to. You aren't 
worthy! And as for you, Bar tie tt, you're a hip- 
pant flypocrite. {Enter Henrietta.) 

BARTLETT 

Your liver must be in a wonderful condition. 
225 



ALL GUMMED UP 



Would you let me use you as a standard type in 
my new book? 

HENRIETTA 

No — No! I absolutely refuse! Geoffrey isn't a 
standard. Everything about him is original 
and I'm sure his liver is no exception. What 
have they been trying to do to you, Geoff? 

GEOFFREY 

Oh, leave me alone, Henrietta; are you trying 
to make a fool of me, too? 

HENRIETTA 

How could you ask such a thing ? {To the others.) 
Have you made a fool of Geoffrey ? That's very 
unkind of you. 

BART LETT 

I must apologize for my wife. Through a lapse 
of memory she omitted to mention the fact that 
she was about to elope with your husband. She 
has upset his plans and he refuses to reconsider 
the matter. 

HENRIETTA 

And I don't blame him. He has a sensitive na- 
ture, and though big things might slip his 
memory, he is very particular about trifles. 

GEOFFREY 

Trifles! 

GLORIA 

I seem to have made an awful mess of things. 

HENRIETTA 

We know you didn't do it intentionally. Come, 
Geoff, dear, we had better go. 
bartlett {to Geoffrey) 

I hope you are not tired, and I do hope we shall 
226 



ALL GUMMED UP 



meet again. I should like to hear you play Wag- 
ner on our Church organ. 

GEOFFREY 

Oh, that's the last straw! Your wife trifles with 
my emotions. You outrage my sense of de- 
cency. Henrietta defies my independence, and 
now you cap it all with a request for Wagner on 
an organ! Do you realize that an 8o-piece or- 
chestra can only begin to interpret Wagner — 
and you ask for him on an organ ! — Where's my 
coat? 

HENRIETTA 

Minter has it, dear. 

GLORIA 

Come to dinner some night and bring your wife. 

GEOFFREY 

If we were on a desert island, and you two had 
the only cocoanut, I wouldn't chew a piece of 
the fibre. {Exit.) 

BARTLETT 

What a splendid fellow! 

HENRIETTA 

Oh, he's just splendid in his own way. Some 
day he will compose a symphony which even the 
critics will understand. Good-bye, Mrs. Bart- 
lett. 

GLORIA 

Good-bye. 

HENRIETTA 

Good-bye, Mr. Bartlett. 

BARTLETT 

I'll see you to the door. {Following her.) 
227 



ALL GUMMED UP 



HENRIETTA (at door) 

Oh, please don't trouble. (Bartlett makes a sign 
to her.) 
bartlett (handing her the box of chewing gum) 
One day next week — subway — bring the gum 
with you. (Sotto voce.) 

HENRIETTA (sotto VOCe) 

I'll wait for a message from you. 

BARTLETT 

I'll send Minter. (Exit Henrietta.) 
gloria (holding up a piece of paper with Bartlett' s 
chewed gum on it) 
George, where did you get this chewing gum? 

BARTLETT (confused) 

The woman tempted me and I did eat. 

GLORIA 

Did she give it to you? 

BARTLETT 

Y-u-yes, dear. 

GLORIA 

Och! The cat! (Throwing it back into basket.) 

BARTLETT 

Now don't get angry, darling. 

GLORIA 

I had far rather you had bought it yourself and 
been honest about it. (Going up stage.) 

BARTLETT 

Oh! (Enter Minter, with box of gum.) 

MINTER 

Did you give this to Mrs. Tremayne? 

BARTLETT 

Certainly not. 

MINTER 

I thought not. I caught her trying to get away 

228 



ALL GUMMED UP 



with it. I didn't think she was that kind of 
person. {He puts box back in drawer.) 

BARTLETT 

What are you putting it there for? 

MINTER 

It belongs there, doesn't it? 

BARTLETT 

What makes you think that? 

MINTER 

I ought to know. I've had enough of it. {Going 
right.) 

BARTLETT 

Minter, there's your gun, go shoot yourself. 

MINTER 

If I did, your business would go to the devil. 
I'm the only lasting impression anyone gets 
from a consultation with you. 

GLORIA 

One moment, Minter, you are a witness that my 
husband lied to me. George, you shall pay for 
this — you shan't take me to the theater. 

BARTLETT 

Oh, dear! 

GLORIA 

I shall go, and just to spite you I shall sit bv 

myself. 

BARTLETT 

Oh, dear! 

MINTER 

Perhaps I could be of assistance to you, Mrs. 
Bartlett. 

GLORIA 

Oh, thank you, Mr. Minter, you shall take me. 
229 



ALL GUMMED UP 



BARTLETT 

No — no — I object! I absolutely object to your 
going with Minter to the theater. You should 
have more regard for my feelings. 

GLORIA 

Had you any regard for my feelings when I 
found you chewing in my house with another 
man's wife? 

BARTLETT 

Just the same, I absolutely refuse to let you go 
with Minter. 
gloria {turning and going) 
Oh, we shall see — 

BARTLETT 

But think, dear! 
gloria 
Think what? 

BARTLETT 

I shall have to answer the door-bell. {Exit 
Gloria, angry, with Minter. Bartlett settles him- 
self into his chair, with his feet on the tabled 
Oh, dear! What an uneventful life! 



CURTAIN 



230 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 

A TRAGEDY IN ONE ACT 

by Harry Greenwood Grover 



The author acknowledges his indebtedness for the central 
idea of this play to Ben Ames Williams, whose story, 
"They Grind Exceeding Small," suggested the play. 

CHARACTERS 

Stephen Thompson 
Jane, his Wife 
Waterman Holmes 
Hiram Pratt 



\ Neighh 



Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Application for permission to produce Thompson's Luck must 
be made to Harry G. Grover, 278 Carmita Ave., Rutherford, N. J. 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



SCENE 

The interior of a very plain farmhouse kitchen, 
forenoon of a gray winter day. At the right there 
is a kitchen range, with tea kettle and iron pot. 
Right front door to pantry. Back center the sink 
in front of a window; a pump at right end, large 
water-pail at the other, with tin dipper hanging 
over it; at left, shelves, and along the wall at right 
more shelves and a corner cupboard. A plain table 
is in center of room, with two equally plain chairs 
by it. There is a door, back left, which reveals, as 
it opens later to admit the neighbor, that it is the 
only one leading outdoors, although it must be 
through one of those shed-like contrivances, so fre- 
quent in New England, that stretch from house to 
barn, for, when the door opens, only a darkening 
results. On the left wall there is a door which leads 
to the "down-stairs" bedroom; near this door is an 
old-fashioned wooden cradle; the hooded sort, with 
rockers. It is turned with head towards audience. 
At the rise, a thin, faded, small woman of thirty- 
five is washing dishes at the sink. When she walks, 
she is a little twisted over to one side: one limb is 
drawn up a little so she stands on her toes. An 
oldish-looking, gray-haired, stoop-shouldered, and 
sharp-faced man, sunken, small, gray eyes, bushy 
overhanging brow, is seated in the center pulling off 
rubber boots; and, as the conversation proceeds, 
233 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



putting on black, shiny, greased, knee-length 
leather boots. The woman turns round from her 
work, looks at him and sighs. 

THOMPSON 

Want anything to the store? 
mrs. Thompson {sadly) 

Are you going to town to-day? 

THOMPSON 

Yes. {Sharply.) What's going to hinder? 
mrs. Thompson {turning and wiping dish as she 
talks, half apologetically: as if she did not feel it 
her right to question or dispute with her lord and 
master) 
I thought mebbe that the going and the — 

THOMPSON 

The going? When did going ever stop me? 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Yes, I know. {Falteringly, as if she had more to 
say, but doesnt get any further?) 
Thompson {vigorously) 

I guess so. No storm is going to stop me from 
getting to town; there is two men owe me in- 
terest money that will be in to-day to my office. 
That's how I got my money, putting it out and 
taking care to get it back. {He laughs very 
slightly, a little cackling, thin laugh without any 
joy in it.) 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Aren't you afraid it's going to storm? 

THOMPSON 

No, I'm not afraid of anything! It isn't my 
luck to have a storm. Don't you believe what 
folks around here tell you about Thompson's 
234 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



luck. Mebbe some of my folks was unlucky, 
but it don't follow me. {He chuckles a little, 
holding one boot in his hand; he looks at her.) 
You know yourself what folks said when I mar- 
ried you. {Mrs. Thompson turns with a pained 
expression, as if she does not care to hear what she 
knows so well. Thompson continues looking 
away so that he doesn't see the look of pain!) 
Thompson's luck again! Waited until he was 
an old man, then married a crooked stick. {He 
chuckles again, not seeing the look of hatred on 
her face; pulls on his boot and looks up towards 
her.) But we fooled 'em. {He rises, goes over to 
the cradle, kneels before it, and looks in, pushing 
away a bit of the blanket that covers the child 
within!) Who's got a finer boy than Steve 
Thompson? {Turning to her anxiously!) What 
makes him sleep so much? 

MRS. THOMPSON 

He's got cold. 

THOMPSON 

Pshaw, why should he have a cold? {Rising.) 
He'll be all right. I won't have him sick! 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Don't you think you better get the medicine? 
He seemed worse last night. 

{Thompson goes over, takes a coat from a hook by 
the door, and takes things from its pockets and 
puts them into another coat, which hangs there. 
While he is fumblingly doing this he goes on with 
his talking.) 

Thompson 

Didn't I buy medicine last week? 
235 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



MRS. THOMPSON 

But that was another trouble. We can't use 
that for this, 

THOMPSON 

He won't be sick. 
mrs. Thompson (sighing) 
I hope not, but I am afraid. 

THOMPSON 

You ain't afraid to spend money, I notice. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

But, Steve, if he needs it, you wouldn't mind 
spending money? 

THOMPSON 

But he'll be all right, I say. Can't anything 
happen to my boy! 

(Knock at the door is heard.) 

Thompson (without looking around) 
Come in. 

(There enters a quiet, smiling man, smooth, red 
face, soft voice, bundled up in a big coat, with 
heavy mittens, a cap pulled over his ears. He is 
younger looking than Thompson) 

holmes (quietly) 

So you're going, are you? 
Thompson (sharply) 

Didn't I just telephone you I was? 
holmes (smiling) 

Well — (and seeing Mrs. Thompson over in the 

corner) Good morning, Miss Thompson. 

MRS. THOMPSON (nods) 

Don't you think it's going to be a blizzard? 

236 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



holmes {doubtfully) 
I don't know. 

THOMPSON 

She's afraid of Thompson's Luck. Guess she 
heard of it before she ever came over here to 
keep house for me. Wouldn't think she'd 
marry me, would you ? {Bitterly, fumbling in 
his pocket and not looking up.) Old man and 
crooked stick! 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Steve! 
Thompson {laughing, turns to Holmes) 
Have you seen my boy? 

HOLMES 

Not since yesterday. {Smiling.) Is he grown 
up? {He looks at Mrs. Thompson, who smiles 

faintly.) 

{Thompson going over to cradle, pulls back the 
quilt a little; although Holmes has followed him, 
he speaks to himself.) 

THOMPSON 

A fine boy! A fine boy! {He gets up.) Thomp- 
son's luck! It never hit me! 
holmes {dryly) 

It never does hit more than once, does it? 
Thompson {angrily) 

You believe in it, too, do you? 

holmes {quietly) 

Oh, no, I don't believe in any luck. I think, as 

a man sows, he will reap. 

THOMPSON 

Hump! {Contemptuously.) You think my 
grandfather was struck by lightning just be- 
237 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



cause, after the big tree in the yard was split to 
kindling, he said, "Now, try Thompson!" 

HOLMES 

Well, I don't know. 

THOMPSON 

I do! But they don't hit me, I tell ye. {He has 
by now dressed, and goes into the pantry, of right, 
returning with a basket into which he looks, turn- 
ing to his wife.) Only two dozen eggs today? 
Why, I brought in seven yesterday. 
mrs. Thompson {meekly) 

I sold a dozen day before yesterday. 

THOMPSON 

You did! {Winking at Holmes.) Where's the 
money? 
mrs. Thompson {not seeing the joke) 
You said I might keep it. 

THOMPSON 

That's why I asked; to see if you keep it or 
spend it. {He laughs a cynical laugh in which 
no one joins him. Holmes looks uneasy^) Well! 
{To Holmes) Come on. {He goes to the water- 
pail at the sink, takes down the tin dipper, 
drinks from it, puts back the dipper, draws 
from his trousers* pocket a black plug of to- 
bacco, from which he bites, and returns it to his 
pocket?) 

mrs. Thompson {who has been standing nervously 
wiping a pan over and over again, now gets up her 
courage to speak?) 

Don't you think you better get the medicine? 
If anything should happen — 

Thompson {interrupting) 

Nonsense! I'm going to town to get money, not 
238 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



to spend it. He isn't sick. I won't have him 
sick! {Turns to go, takes the latch of the door in 
his hand y then back over his shoulder with) Take 
good care of my boy! Keep him warm! Care 
and warmth is what he needs. {He goes out, 
followed by Holmes who simply nods as he goes 
through the door.) 

mrs. Thompson {stands by the sink, looking out the 
window, until there is heard outside, Thompson's 
voice calling, "Whoa! hold up!" Then there is a 
sharp jingling of sleigh-bells succeeded by quiet, 
and she moves a step or two, evidently to follow bet- 
ter with her eyes, the retreating sleigh. She me- 
chanically puts down the pan which she has con- 
tinued to hold and wipe, and stands there with the 
dish-towel in her hand. She turns and looks 
toward the cradle, then out of the window suddenly 
as if he had come in sight again on some far hill- 
top. She raises her hand threateningly and ex- 
claims:) 

It will be your fault! {She limps over to the 
cradle, kneels by it, remains there as if listen- 
ing. She gets up quickly, goes to the table with 
great determination; makes something in a cup, 
goes back to the cradle and exclaims feverishly:) 
I won't let him die ! His boy, and he won't spend 
a penny for medicine! He's my boy, too, and I 
won't let him die. {She puts the cup back on 
the table, goes to the stove, takes a brick from the 
top of the stove, wraps it in a large piece of cloth, 
carries it to the cradle, pulls up the covering at the 
foot, and, while putting it in, talks frantically .) 
His baby! I'll show him! He wouldn't have 
i6 239 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



him die! I will not let him die! His mother 
will save him. He's my boy! Another crooked 
stick! {She shrieks hysterically; buries her face 
in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.) 

SCENE II 

The curtain falls for an instant to rise on the same 
scene with this difference. The room is filled with 
queer shadows made by the light from a poor, little 
lamp on the table. There is a large rocking-chair 
near the table which has been moved to the middle 
of the room. The shades are drawn. The cradle 
is over near the stove. The oven door is open and 
Mrs. Thompson propped up in the chair with a 
red, faded shawl over her shoulders seated before it. 
She wakens with a start at some distant, low call 
heard outside. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Oh! {She steps over near the cradle and listens; 
looks up at the clock on the mantle over the stove.) 
Half-past twelve. {A weak knock is heard at the 
door. She rises quickly, limps over to the door, 
and, with her hand on the bar, which locks the 
door, she calls timorously:) Who's there? {A 
weak man's voice is heard outside?) It's me. {To 
which Mrs. Thompson adds with assurance and 
eagerness:) Hiram Pratt? {Before the "yes" 
comes she has taken down the bar and with it the 
door is opened, disclosing a thin, tall, stooped man; 
clad in a poor-looking, old, faded overcoat; a cap 
pulled down over his narrow head; a big strip of 
cloth wound round his thin, long neck?) 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Well, I'm glad you've come. 
240 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



pratt {staggers to the chair at the left of the table; 
sits down as if exhausted; in a weak voice says) 
Baby worse? 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Yes, awful; but I'll save him with the medicine. 

{Pratt begins unbuttoning his coat; then another 
beneath it; and, at last, painfully draws some- 
thing out of his trousers side-pocket, which Jane 
reaches eagerly for.) 

PRATT 

I didn't fetch it, Miss Thompson. I'm sorry! 

{His speech is broken off by a spasm of coughing. 
Her hands have fallen limp at her side, and from 
now, during the recital, she stands mute and some- 
times as if unconscious of his story or presence, 
until he comes to the part Thompson had played; 
at which, for a moment, she shows signs of a re- 
pressed rage, which suggests strength that lies 
hidden beneath her pitifully weak, habitual ex- 
terior.) You see! {He holds out a small, dirty, 
white canvas bag, such as country men use to carry 
loose change.) I put that dollar bill you gave me 
to buy the medicine in here with my money 
and tied this tape around it just as I always do. 
{He shows the bag folded securely, with the open end 
turned in and a soiled piece of white tape turned 
around it.) It couldn't have got lost, could it? 
{Appealing to Mrs. Thompson.) Do you see 
how it could? 
mrs. Thompson {shakes her head) 
No! 

PRATT 

I thought I'd do my interest business first, be- 
241 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



fore I went to the store to trade. I got my 
mortgage on my place from Mr. Thompson, you 
know. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

No, I didn't know. 

PRATT 

Yes, so I went right to the office. My! but it 
was warm up there; up those stairs. You know 
how it is. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

No, I've never seen it. 

PRATT 

Hain't seen it? 

MRS. THOMPSON 

No, I never go to town. 

PRATT 

Come to think of it, I don't know as I ever did 
see you there; but I supposed mebbe the old 
man took you sometimes. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

No, he never has room. 

PRATT 

I see he had Waterman Holmes. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Yes, Waterman went. (Weakly.) But the 
baby was sick. 

PRATT 

Waterman was there when I went in; though I 
was kind of blinded when I first got in, I soon 
made out who it was and I knew his voice. I 
felt so kind of queer up there, climbing the 
stairs and the heat and all, and my fingers were 
so cold, I couldn't scarce count my money. But 
I finally got out the $11.40 that I had. It was 
242 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



not enough, but Mr. Thompson took it and let 
me have a little more time for the rest. {He 
coughs terribly.) This has been a tough winter, 
all the children sick with colds and one thing or 
another. {He sighs, shakes his head.) I don't 
know. {He remains silent for what seems a long 
time, until brought back to his story by the cold 
voice of Jane.) 

MRS. THOMPSON 

And then ? 
pratt {starting up) 

Oh, yes! Well, I thought it wouldn't do any 

harm as long as I had so much bad luck, poor 

crops and a calf that died, and so on, to ask Mr. 

Thompson if he wouldn't let me off a little. {He 

sighs again) 
mrs. Thompson {quickly and mechanically) 

What did he say? 

PRATT 

I suppose I can't complain. I told him I had 
a big family and had lots of sickness, and he 
said he had a family, too, to look out for. "I 
know," says I. {He pauses, looks at the cradle 
and around the room?) So I got up and come 
out, and when I got over to the store for the 
medicine the dollar bill was gone. {He pauses 
and looks at Jane as if looking for some sharp 
scolding or word of question, perhaps of sympathy, 
but, seeing nothing but a stare on her face, he con- 
tinues pitifully?) I always put my money in 
that bag, but I thought I might have put it in 
some back pocket, seeing it wasn't my money. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

And you couldn't find it in your pocket? 
243 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



PRATT 

I hunted in every pocket I've got. Zack Turner 
finally spoke up and asked me if I had come to 
town to clean out my pockets. I couldn't find 
that dollar, Miss Thompson. I'll pay you back 
soon as I can. Mebbe in a month I'll get it. 
Will that be all right? I'm sorry. (He rises, be- 
gins fumblingly buttoning his coat.) 

mrs. Thompson (as if awakening to reality) 

It ain't the money; it's the medicine. (She goes 
over and kneels by the cradled) What will become 
of my boy? (She sobs.) 

pratt (weakly) 

I guess he'll be a right. Harriet could come 
over tomorrow and help you, mebbe. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Tomorrow ? 

PRATT 

Well, if it stops snowin'. 
mrs. Thompson (as if to herself) 

Mebbe Steve bought it and will bring it. 

PRATT 

Steve won't be out tonight. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Oh, yes, he will. He would have telephoned to 
find out about the boy if he didn't mean to come 
home. 

PRATT 

Telephoned! There hain't three lengths of tele- 
phone wire between here and Bates ville. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Then he'll come. (Faintly, as if she did not be- 
lieve it.) I guess. 

244 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



PRATT 

If there's anything I could do — I'm afraid he 
won't come. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

You got through. 

PRATT 

Yes, but I had to. There was Harriet and the 
children. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

He's got a family, too. 

PRATT 

Yes, but he can afford to stay in town. He can 
go to the hotel. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Not him. He sleeps in his office sometimes when 
he's kept in late. (She looks at the cradle.) But 
he'll come before mornin'. (As if 'to herself.) He 
said he wouldn't let him die. 

PRATT 

Humph! He don't believe in Thompson's luck. 
Well, I hope not. (Turning to go.) I'm sorry, 
Miss Thompson. I must be going. (He goes, 
and she mechanically bars the door after him. 
Now she seems awake, as if she realizes that the 
child has no hope but her resources. She wraps 
up another brick taken from the stove, takes the one 
from the cradle, and puts in the freshly heated one. 
Her every movement is feverish; at times, frantic. 
She stoops over very close as if to listen for the 
breathing of the child. She rises, limpingly 
fetches the lamp; kneels by the cradle, turns up the 
wick until it smokes and seems to peer into the 
face of the child within. She puts the lamp back 
on the table, mixes at the table something in a cup, 
245 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



puts it down, goes over to the telephone, takes down 
the receiver, and, after a pause, calls faintly:} 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Hello! (Paused) Hello! (A longer pause in 
which she moves nervously, as if she heard strange 
sounds or perhaps no sound in the receiver?) 
Hello ! ( Then, frantically) Hello ! Hello ! Hello ! 
(The receiver drops full length of the cord from her 
hand, she turns slowly round; falls into a chair 
and laughs hysterically?) It's coming now. 
Thompson's luck! 

Curtain 



SCENE III 

When the curtain rises after a brief interval, it is 
to disclose the kitchen flooded with a dazzling sun- 
light reflected from the snow-covered world outside. 
It is mid-forenoon of the day following the previous 
events. The table is still out in the center of the 
room, but the cradle is gone. The back door opens 
and in walks Thompson, followed by Waterman 
Holmes. 

Thompson {over his shoulder) 

You might as well come in. We'll have some- 
thing hot to drink. (Loosening their coats, they 
sit at the table; Thompson toward the stove and 
away from the bedroom door. From the bedroom 
door Jane comes quickly. She has a strained look, 
is pale, with deep circles under her eyes.) 

MRS. THOMPSON 

At last! 

246 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



Thompson (not looking at her; speaking over his 
shoulder) 

This isn't late. We're early. (Looking at his 
watch.) Only ten o'clock. Give us a cup of cof- 
fee, will you? 

(Mrs. Thompson, without answering, goes over to 
the shelf by the window, takes a spoon, a jar of 
coffee, and puts water from pail into the coffee- 
pot.) 

Thompson (continuing) 

It turned out to be a big storm. I didn't see 
any good spending money to telephone. I see 
the wires are all down anyhow. I knew you 
would be all right; you aren't afraid. 

(Jane pauses in her preparations, looks at him 
with a sudden look of hatred coming over her face, 
but says nothing^) 

Thompson (continuing) 

Never see such drifts, did you, Waterman ? 
Holmes 

No! 

THOMPSON 

Couldn't have got through last night no more 
than you could fly. 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Some did 
Thompson (turning around and looking at her) 
Who? 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Hiram Pratt. 
Thompson (laughing his dry, cackling laugh) 

He couldn't do anything but go through. No 
247 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



place to stay and no money to put up at the 
hotel. {Turning to Waterman.) Mebbe that 
dollar bill he dropped at my table was his hotel 
expenses. {He slaps his knee and laughs so he 
doesn't hear the coffee-pot come down with a thud 
on the shelf at the side of the sink, when Jane's 
nerveless hand lets it drop as she hears "dollar bill" 
Waterman Holmes looks around, but, as Jane 
manages to pick it up and go on, he turns back. 
Thompson continues to Jane, who now stands 
with her back to him.) He was into my office 
yesterday afternoon to pay up his interest and 
dropped a dollar bill on the table while he was 
counting out his chicken feed to make up his 
$11.40. {Turning to Holmes.) Guess he must 
have saved all the change he's seen for the last 
six months. He did have two silver dollars, 
though. {He laughs again and then resumes to 
Jane.) Well, sir, he's got so little brains that, 
while he was counting and recounting his small 
change to make sure he wasn't giving me too 
much, he let a dollar bill slip out on the table, 
and, with his eyes looking straight at that table, 
setting there as near as Holmes and I are to this 
one, he never saw me cover it up with my hand 
{imitating on table) and put it in my pocket. 
{He bursts out laughing. Holmes smiles a little, 
but stops as he perceives Jane's queer look when 
she hears "dollar bill") 

HOLMES 

It was too bad, though. 
Thompson {snorting) 

Too bad, nothing! Dum fool! Why didn't he 
take care of his money? He ain't got brains 
248 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



enough to carry him around the corner let alone 
borrow money. (Bitterly to Jane.) How did 
you know he got back last night? 

MRS. THOMPSON 

He stopped here. 

THOMPSON 

What time? 

MRS. THOMPSON 

About half-past twelve. 

THOMPSON 

What for? 

MRS. THOMPSON 

I asked him to do an errand. 

THOMPSON 

Can't I do your errands? 
mrs. Thompson {doggedly) 
You wouldn't. 

THOMPSON 

Shucks! 

MRS. THOMPSON 

I asked you to buy the medicine and you said 

No! 

THOMPSON 

Pshaw! Did he get it? 

MRS. THOMPSON 

No, he couldn't. 

THOMPSON 

Why not? 
mrs. Thompson (looking defiantly at him) 
He lost the money I gave him. 

THOMPSON 

Lost the money? Stole it, you mean. How 
much did you give him ? 
249 



THOMPSON'S LUCK 



mrs. Thompson {defiantly ', looking sharply at him) 
A dollar bill! {Holmes stands up; Thompson 
jumps to his feet, starts toward the bedroom door, 
stops, turns around and asks, with a tremor in his 
voice:) 

THOMPSON 

How's my boy? 

mrs. Thompson {pointing to the door of the bed- 
room) 
Go and see! 

Thompson {goes slowly, but before he reaches the 
door turns again and says) 
How's my boy? 

MRS. THOMPSON 

Dead! 

CURTAIN 



250 



FATA DEORUM 

A POETIC PLAY IN TWO SCENES 

by Carl W. Guske 



CHARACTERS 

Marius, a retired General 

Decius, a Philosopher and Slave to Marius 

A Messenger from Rome 

A Suevian Prisoner 

Two Roman Soldiers 



Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Application for permission to produce this play must be made 

to the author, who may be addressed in care of the publishers, 

Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. 



FATA DEORUM 



Time: About 15 A. D. 
Place: Near Rome. 

scene one. A room in the home of Marius. 
Discovered: Marius, sitting perfectly rigid and 

staring blankly into space. 
Enter: Decius and Messenger. 

DECIUS 

Stay yet awhile, for I divine that soon 

This morbid melancholia, 

Corroding fast the basis of his reason, 

Will abate. Then in the trenchant wrath 

That will ensue, as surely as the night 

Succeeds the day, it is more like we'll find 

A chance to broach the subject of thy message. 

MESSENGER 

'Tis well; I'll stay awhile, and pray the Gods 
May soon repel this death incipient! 
See how he stares with fixed gaze into 
Vague miles of distance, and nor hears, 
Nor sees, nor knows what 'round him stirs. 
Poor soul! How long hath he thus been af- 
flicted? 

DECIUS 

Since his retirement, and day by day 
Grows worse. Of nourishment he scarce par- 
takes. 
Moreover, when to soothing sleep at last 
253 



FATA DEORUM 



He doth succumb, 'tis not for long, but starts 
With sudden, wild, incisive shriek, and cries: 
"Oh, Claudius, oh, Claudius, my son!" 
And then he writhes, and moans, and weeps, as 

though 
His heart were being cleft. Then follows wrath, 
Mad, turgid wrath, when all about him he 
Would tear asunder. Yet I fear it not — 
Not half so much as when he sinks into 
This melancholy spell. 'Tis so like death; 
I am afraid! 

MESSENGER 

Alas, he was 
Rome's bravest general. Even to-day 
The Emperor proclaimed him such when he 
Dispatched me here and said: "I would that he 
Were well again." Where is the scroll I brought? 

DECIUS 

I left it there before him. Look, he wakes. 
The Gods be praised! 

MESSENGER 

The Gods be praised! 

MARIUS 

Where art thou, Decius? 

DECIUS 

Here, master, here. 

MARIUS 

Say if I slept a moment since, or woke. 

DECIUS 

Master, I do not know. Thou wert as rigid 
As a stone, and yet thine eyes were opened wide. 

MARIUS 

'Tis that accursed, hideous dream that haunts 
me 

254 



FATA DEORUM 



Even while I wake. It hangs on me, 

As if a sorrow bitterer than I've 

Yet known were threatening. But no, it seems 

As though it were a shadow of long past 

Calamity, which I in state of blissful 

Ignorance escaped. How strange it was, 

And yet I saw them plainly — myriads 

On myriads came staggering up a hill, 

It seemed, and I was at the top. 

Plodding, plodding, slowly plodding, nearer, 

Nearer they approached; clad in scanty 

Filthy rags, fast rotting in the dampness 

Of their foul, unearthly home. Poor souls ! 

though some were blind and toothless, yet they 

grinned 
Like fiends from hell. And one there was more 

gruesome 
To behold than all the rest; he stretched 
His arms to me in dire passion as 
He passed. Gods, what a sorry sight! 
And what a sound their harsh, hoarse croaking, 
Moaning, wailing, laughing, crying, 
All at once: "Unclean, unclean, unclean!" 
Why am I tortured thus? Is 't not enough 
That I must bear? Why do the Gods their fury 
Wreak upon the head of one poor mortal 
Here below? I had a son — where is 
He now? He's gone, I know not where. 
Not e'en the comfort of his death is mine. 
Relent thy vengeance, mighty Gods. You've 

racked 
Enough this wretched heart; now succor it, 
Lest it should rise in mutiny, and, fraught 
With curses rank, defy thy punishment! 
17 *55 



FATA DEORUM 



DECIUS 

Oh, master mine, thou work'st thine own de- 
struction. 

MARIUS 

What sayest, fool ? That is a lie. The Gods, 

The Gods — I am a victim of their mills; 

Oh, how they grind! "Thou work'st thine own 
destruction ?" 

Lie, lie, I say it is a lie. The Gods 

Have planned it all, and I am doomed. They 
laugh 

To scorn my fervent prayers, whilst I, full help- 
less, 

Bear their cruel blows. Whence came this 
scroll ? 

DECIUS 

'Twas brought to thee by yonder messenger 
From Emperor Tiberius. 

MARIUS 

Then read it, 
Decius. My temples rock, mine eyes 
Are almost blind! Read what Tiberius says. 
decius {reading) 

"Rome greets thee, Noble Marius: 

Now hast 
Thou rested forty days, and hope runs high 
In Rome that soon thy health will be restored. 
Thou mayest know how keen our forces 
Feel thine absence, when that we do send to 

thee, 
While still thy pulses rage, this matter for at- 
tention. 
The Gods have dealt us graciously the capture 
Of a Suevian prisoner — the charge 
256 



FATA DEORUM 



'Gainst whom, in full, the bearer will impart to 
thee." 

MARIUS 

Where is the prisoner? 

MESSENGER 

Without, my lord. 

MARIUS 

Go, fetch him in. Come hither, Decius, 
{Exit Messenger) 

Come, sit thou here; I would a while consult 
With thee. For years and years I've trusted 

thee 
With duties sacred in my household. 
Thy wisdom I regarded high enough 
To make thee tutor to mine only son — 
Who now is gone. Thus, and in various other 
Ways, I've shown thy judgment great respect, 
Albeit thou art a slave. And now that I 
Am ill, I place still greater import on 
Thy wisdom. Tell me, Decius, what thinkest 
Thou of my misfortune? Is't not too great? 
Have not the Gods abased me much? 

DECIUS 

'Tis truly great. Would thou could'st heap it 

all 
Upon my head; most willingly I'd bear it. 
So I love thee, master mine. 

MARIUS 

And yet, 
A moment hence thou did'st remark: "Thou 

work'st 
Thine own destruction." 

DECIUS 

'Twas an idle word. 
257 



FATA DEORUM 



MARIUS 

'Twas not an idle word. Thou hast a mind 
Which anyone might envy thee. Now come, 
How dost thou mean I work mine own destruc- 
tion? 

DECIUS 

I fear, oh, master, thou wilt be offended. 

MARIUS 

1*11 be offended at thy prudish dalliance, 
Which rears obstructions to mine understand 

ing. 
Thou art a good philosopher; come, 
I'll forget thou art a slave. Come, come, speak 

out. 

DECIUS 

Hast ever thought that in the world to-day 
We dam the torrents of our grief until they wax 
So turbulent, we turn with dazed 
Reasoning to blame the rancour of 
The Gods, when we ourselves have been the 

source? 
For when the worst within us has o'ercome 
The best, and when to poignancy weVe yielded, 
All the best seems but an atom in a 
Sea of gall, wherein we float, and blindly 
Groping, fall still lower in the bitter 
Flood, which greedily devours us. 
So thou dost only live in memory 
Of sorrows thou hast known, and yield to moods 
That fain would eat thy very soul away — 

MARIUS 

And should I smile when that from battle I 
Returned one day to find mine only son 
Was no more here? 

258 



FATA DEORUM 



DECIUS 

Not so; but now that he is 
Gone, thou multiplyest much thy grief, by 

dwelling 
On it over-long. 

MARIUS 

Ah, "over-long !" 
Into eternity would scarcely be long 
Enough! I loved my child, my Claudius, 
My son. 

DECIUS 

MARIUS 



And even I — 

His father, I — 



DECIUS 

And I, his slave. 

MARIUS 

Indeed thou art a wise 
Philosopher! Hast ever helped to bring 
Into this world an offspring of thine own, 
That thou might'st know the ties that bind a 

father 
To his child? Hast ever felt the sweetness 
Of paternal cares that wax as time 
Goes on, as doth the grief that comes when such 
Cares end? No, no, that hast thou not; and yet 
Thou counsel'st thus ? Out of my sight; be gone 
Thou fool; out of my sight, be gone, be gone! 

(Decius retires to the background. The Mes- 
senger enters, followed by the Suevian prisoner be- 
tween two Roman soldiers.) 

MESSENGER 

Most noble sir: This is the leader of 
259 



FATA DEORUM 



A damned tribe that thrice hath ravished our 

Cities, resting in the quiet of the 

Night, with ne'er a thought of harm impending. 

So the last atrocious deed was done 

At Samaris, where scarce a peristyle 

Remains, but that is smeared with blood which 

once 
In veins of youth and noble manhood ran ! 
Not even helpless children did they spare, 
And many a Roman maid, despondent grown 
In pregnancy, now ends her life, ere yet 
Her bastard Suevian offspring may be born! 
And Samaris will not alone the mark 
Of Suevian menace bear, for twice before 
Hath Rome heard cries of mad despair, 
Rising amid the smoke and flames 
Of other devastated cities! But, 
Each time the fiends had fled into the darkness 
Of the night, before our soldiers could 
Arrive. And now we have the leader of 
Their tribe, with whom the Emperor hath sent 
Me here, to say that Marius alone 
Can justly treat so dastardly a crime. 
Rome cries to thee from out the depths of shame, 
That she should let such deed e'en once occur. 
Avenge thou her, remove the tarnish from her 

name! 

MARIUS 

What hear I now? My breath, my breath, it 

fails! 
'Though all the rage that mortal could possess 
Now sears my soul, and kindles up a flame 
Of keenest hate, 

I count myself too much a weakling still 
260 



FATA DEORUM 



To punish thee. Thou hellish 
Monster, thou — for every drop of Roman 
Blood that thou didst spill, thy body shall 
Receive a slash while hanging by its toes, 
And for the Roman womanhood thou didst 
Deflow'r, thy slashes shall be strewn with burn- 
ing 
Sulphur! Now, my Suevian friend, how likest 
Thou the wrath of Rome? 

PRISONER 

Thou slanderest Rome 
To say thy shameful passion is her wrath. 

MARIUS 

My shameful passion then; how suits it thee? 

PRISONER 

Well, Roman, well; since I bear guilt of actions 
Such as thine, I'm pleased to die. 

MARIUS 

Oh, thou 
Germanic dog! 'Twas never known of Rome 
To murder children in their sleep. 

PRISONER 

We even murder babes and women in 

Their sleep, since murder deals a gentler bloM 

Than banishment to leprosy. 

MARIUS 

Ah, banishment to leprosy. So, now 

I understand — My reputation travels fast. 

PRISONER 

Ne'er had our tribe an unfair battle waged, 
And calmly were we e'er resigned to fates 
Of honest war. But once because our loss 
Was not so great as yours, and but a score 
261 



FATA DEORUM 



Of Suevian prisoners you had won, thy glut- 
tonous 
Enmity thy reason stole and with 
A fiendish mania thou didst condemn 
Them to a living death, there in 
The barren vales of that secluded isle, 
With naught but cold gray hills to gaze upon, 
And scores of wretches falling joint from joint. 
'Twas then we swore that naught should stay 

our just 
Revenge, not e'en the foulest trickery. 
My daughter, too, was in that lot. Now she's 
Unclean ! Sweet child of rarest innocence ! 
Oh, how I wish that I might clasp her to 
My heart just once again — just once again! 
Now thou dost know why we bear guilt of 

damned 
Deeds as black as thine. 

MARIUS 

Thou dar'st stand there 
And damn what I have done ! Since thou hast so 
Declared thyself, I'll grant thy boon, that thou 
May'st clasp thy daughter once more to thy 

breast. 
Thou, too, shalt be unclean! Go drag him 

hence, 
And when 'tis done, bring word in person here 

to me. 
{Exeunt the prisoner, messenger, and soldiers?) 
Now, Decius, put out the torch; 
The moonbeams pierce the deep tenebrous 

clouds, 
To woo the latent sorrow in my heart. 
Now go; I'll count, alone, the tedious hours 
262 



FATA DEORUM 



That languish in the stillness of the air — 
Creating vivid likenesses of pangs of 
Passions ancient-born. 



Curtain 



SCENE TWO 

Same as Scene One. Night. 
Discovered: Marius. 

MARIUS 

When that the Gods 
So prudently had wrought to manly youth 
The only offspring of my flesh and blood — 
I see him now, with head held high, darting 
On nimble limbs as swift as winds that toss 
His dark, abundant, curly hair; 
With eyes a-sparkle, boyish smile, and gentle 
Stroke of tender hand to smooth the time-worn 
Furrows on my brow — my cup was filled ! 
Drunk with the joy of happiness supreme, 
Unheedful of the source from whence it came, 
I angered the immortal Gods, and reaped 
The harvest of their quick and fearful doom! 
And now my soul has fled to hazy spheres 
Of everlasting memories, where happy 
Dreams reiterate dear days that were 
But are no more. Oh, Claudius, my son, 
Return thy father's hideous gloom to cheer, 
Or bid the Gods to open wide the black doors 
Of foul mystery that thy dear presence 
Doth conceal. I'd let the soothing zephyrs 
Of the south waft thee my lamentations, 
But the stream that yonder flows might rise 
263 



FATA DEORUM 



Enticing to my woeful words, and drown 
Them in its buoyant waters. No, I'll face 
The east; mayhap the first bright gleam of 
Morning light will bring me hopeful word of 

thee, 
Or thou, thyself, wilt come again, dear son ; 
Yes, yes, thou'lt come, I know, I know thou'lt 

come! 

(Decius and the Messenger have entered and over- 
heard part of Mart us' so/i/oquy.) 

DECIUS 

You hear? And thus all through the night. And 
Now this news. I fear, I fear, and yet 
It must be done. Stand thou apart. 
(Decius cautiously approaches Marius.) 

Oh, master. 
marius (after gazing about him in a dazed manner 
addresses the messenger) 

What's in thy look that leers with mockery, 
The while thy features ache with frowns and 
fear? 

MESSENGER 

Oh, gruesome, soul-devouring sight that I 
Beheld. Thy doom is sealed, and I the sealer, 
Bound by thy command! 

MARIUS 

What is my doom ? 
Speak on, I am prepared for anything. 

MESSENGER 

We traveled fast and sped our sails, so that 
We reached the wretched isle ere yet the sun 
Had set, by whose slow-dying rays the peaks 
Of those cold hills seemed steeped in gore. 
264 



FATA DEORUM 



The Suevian never spoke a word on all the way. 

But once he said in tones that still are ringing 

In mine ears: "He'll rue this day. For every act 

Of violence we commit, we pay a ten-fold 

Penalty before we quit." And then 

He smiled, and entered fearlessly the heavy 

Gate, which yawned and swallowed him. 

I was about to turn and leave, when standing 

There before me, at spear's length, I saw 

A pair, now scarcely human as they looked, 

She, from his fond embrace, sprang with a 

shriek 
And fell into a heap before the prisoner, 
Crying 'mid rasping sobs, "My father! Pity, 

Gods!" 
The boy then came to me and when 
He spoke, his tainted breath rose thiough the 

air 
And stifled me. So frightfully distorted 
Was his face, 'twas torture when he tried 
To smile, which plainly I discerned, though low 
He bowed his head. He dragged his limbs as if 
To drop them would remove a weight of pain, 
And bulging from their sockets with a piercing 
Glare, his eyes shone through the lifeless strings 
Of hair about his face. Sir, 'twas your son! 
The girl whom he had followed there no earthly 
Power could tear from him, nor him from her, 
For so they loved — and so they went from life 

to death. 
I knew him not, but he knew me. Oh, how I 

longed 
To clasp him to my heart, and fold his swollen 

hands 

265 



FATA DEORUM 



In mine, but he's a thing unclean, unclean, un- 
clean ! 
He asked with trembling lips concerning thee, 
And quickly came the thought to me to lie. 
I told him thou didst die in battle here 
Of late; again he tried to smile and thanked 
The Gods that thou should'st ne'er behold him 

in 
That piteous plight. And then he asked con- 
cerning 
Decius; and once again I lied, 
And said thou gavest him his freedom at 
Thy death; therefore I knew not where he was. 
Then falling with his face upon the ground, 
He clasped his hands in prayer, and thus I saw 
Him lying still, while from the stern of our 
Reluctant-moving barge I watched the scene of 
sorrow fade. 

MARIUS 

Thy work is done, and well; return to Rome. 

{Exit the messenger.) 

Oh, God, a thing unclean, unclean, unclean! 

And thou almighty Gods, art satisfied? 

Oh, ne'er to come again, never again. 

Ye Gods, ye mock me so. My heart doth 

break, 
And breaking still doth live. Can ye not still 
Its beating, Gods? Why must it beat and 

break ? 
No, no, I know thou'lt never come again, dear 

son; 
Ne'er more shall we behold thee! Decius, 
When I am gone, what wilt thou do, and I 
Thy freedom give to thee? 
266 



FATA DEORUM 



DECIUS 

Ah, master mine, I'll stay with thee till thou 
Art gone, and then I'll join my master Claudius, 
To lave his wounds, and pray for comfort in 
His last declining days of misery. 

MARIUS 

I'm faint — go, Decius, and fetch me wine. 
{Exit Decius.) 

Each twinkling star laughs at my sorry plight 
Each flower its perfume sends to throttle me 
Each fleeting cloud but mocks my waning life 
While each cool breath of breeze but fans the 

mad, 
Devouring flame that in me burns. Ye triumph, 
Mighty Gods. 

{He takes a sword from the wall.) 
Be not afraid, oh, sword, of this poor heart, 
Tis but a broken fluttering thing that fain 

would die. 
Thou wilt disturb no feeling there, for all 
Is gone, and thou art truly welcome — come! 
{He stabs himself and dies.) 

{Enter Decius.) 

DECIUS 

Here, master mine, take drink this wine, 
And follow me, so that we three — 
{He sees that Marius is dead) 
Now, Claudius, my master, I will come. 



FINIS 



267 



PEARL OF DAWN 

A FANTASY IN TEN SCENES 

by Holland Hudson 



CHARACTERS 

Haroun al Raschid, Caliph of Bagdad^ 

surnamed "the Good" 
His Vizier 
His Favorite 
His Chief Eunuch 

Ali A li, a Merchant ', also called "the good' 
His Eldest Wife 
His Youngest Wife 
Hazan, his Brother-in-Law 
A Robber Captain 
His Lieutenant 

Guards, robbers, wives, houri, ad lib. 





ORDER OF SCENES 


I. 


A Street 6. A Room in the Caliph's 


1. 


In the Shop of Ali the House 




Merchant 7. A Street 


3- 


A Street 8. Ali's Shop 


4- 


Ali's Shop 9. A Street 


5- 


A Street 10. Ali's Shop 


rvz, 


? entire action takes place in one night. Scenes 3 to p 




comprise the story within the play. 



Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Applications for permission to produce Pearl of Dawn should be addressed 
to Frank Shay, in care of the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cin- 
cinnati, Ohio. No performance may be given without his consent. 



PEARL OF DAWN 



AUTHOR S NOTE 

"Pear/ of Dawn" was written to provide a pic- 
torial one-act play, neither tragic nor highfalutin, 
which might afford opportunity for rapid move- 
ment and adventure in a small compass of time 
and space. I have therefore placed the story in a 
period and a country about which the rising gen- 
eration knows comparatively little, and have de- 
liberately shifted the action constantly from street 
to shop or palace and back again. 
Scenically, the street is a painted front curtain, and 
the shop a cyclorama drape. The palace scene is 
simply the shop, with different light, and its 
properties changed. 

scene one: A Street in Bagdad. Night. 

hazan {comes down the street, making his way with 
difficulty, swaying with weakness. His clothes 
are shredded to ribbons. He has bandaged him- 
self, here and there, with fragments of his gar- 
ments) 

Allah, be merciful! Let me die! Let me die! 
Allah — {He falls unconscious.) 

a li {runs out, carrying a lantern. He bends over the 
prostrate man and tries to rouse him.) 

hazan {sprawls on his face, and his back, upon 
which no clothing remains, is revealed striped with 
marks of a whip?) 
18 271 



PEARL OF DAWN 



ALI 

Ah, poor man ! Poor man ! 
hazan {recovering consciousness , rolls over on his 
side, looks up) 
Ali! 

ALI 

What, you know me? Who are you? 

HAZAN 

You do not recognize me? I am Hazan. (He 

faints again.) 

ALI 

Hazan, good brother; wake again. It is I, Ali, 
Ali. I don't remember which wife it is whose 
brother you are, but I know you. Come, wake 
up, dear brother, you are much too heavy for 
me to carry. (Nevertheless, he manages to pick 
up Hazan and stagger out with him, leaving his 
lantern behind?) 

haroun al raschid (enters from the opposite di- 
rection, with his Vizier, who carries a lantern) 
You say the man who carried him into that shop 
is Ali the good? 

the vizier (salaaming) 

So people call him. As he is a merchant — you 
may believe it if you like. 

HAROUN 

Stop salaaming. I wish to remain incognito. 
So that is the man to whom they give my title? 
Not Haroun al Raschid the Good, but Ali the 
good! A merchant of women's wear for a rival! 

VIZIER 

The moon does not rival the sun, but reflects it. 

HAROUN 

But if he is called "the good," why does he now 

272 



PEARL OF DAWN 



give aid and comfort to a wretch who has been 
publicly whipped for violating his neighbor's 
harem ? 

VIZIER 

Perhaps All's own harem is a little too much for 
him. 

HAROUN 

That is the most cynical thing you have said 
this evening. I shall have to present you with a 
brace of wives. 

VIZIER 

That is the most cynical threat you have made 
today. To keep you from remembering it, let 
me tell you that the man who was whipped is 
All's brother-in-law. Further, Ali undoubtedly 
does not know yet what he was whipped for. 
His wives keep all the scandal to themselves. 

HAROUN 

I should like to see this merchant sell his wares 
and yet earn his title of "the good." 
vizier 

You should have that opportunity soon. The 
guardian of your harem asked me where your 
favorite might buy some silks this evening at a 
reasonable price and I told him of Ali's shop. 
They may be there now. 

HAROUN 

And be defiled by the presence of Hazan the 
unclean! Let us go there quickly. (They hurry 
off, Haroun taking AWs lantern.) 

A patrol passes. The lights fade out. 
The scene changes. 



273 



PEARL OF DAWN 



scene two: The Shop of Ali 

Through the open doorway at the back one sees 
the sky of early night. In the foreground a cur- 
tained divan is lighted by a small lamp concealed 
in the canopy. The center of the shop is lighted 
by a brass hanging lamp. Under it Alls wives 
are displaying silks to a veiled lady, who is guarded 
by Harouns Chief Eunuch, a gigantic Nubian 
with a naked sword across one arm. 



THE ELDEST WIFE 

Lady, the silk is worth fifty pieces of silver, and 
it is yours for thirty. 

HAROUN AL RASCHID's FAVORITE 

It does not interest me. 

THE YOUNGEST WIFE 

Lady, we could not cheat you. You are in the 
shop of Ali the good. 

THE ELDEST WIFE 

We are commanded to cheat no one and to speak 
to our customers no untrue word. 

THE YOUNGEST WIFE 

These are the commands of Ali the good. 

THE FAVORITE 

Is the merchant really so good? 

THE ELDEST WIFE 

I, the eldest wife, acknowledge it. 

THE FAVORITE 

Then he must be good, indeed. Are you sure 
this silk is of the best quality? 

THE YOUNGEST WIFE 

Lady, it is the jewel of China, whence it came. 
274 



PEARL OF DAWN 



ali {appears in the doorway carrying the uncon- 
scious Hazan) 
One of you, a cup of water, quickly! 

THE ELDEST WIFE 

But see, a customer, a great lady! 

ALI 

But I have found a brother — not yours? Well, 
a brother of one of you. Make haste! {He 
brings Hazan down to the curtained divan.) 

the youngest wife {brings a cup of water.) 

the eldest wife {attends to her customer, screen- 
ing her from seeing more of the intruder.) 

THE FAVORITE 

Is that the merchant, Ali? 

THE ELDEST WIFE 

Ali the good, lady. You must forgive him. 
He is so tenderhearted that he forgets all busi- 
ness to help any creature in distress. 

THE FAVORITE 

What a wonderful husband he must be! 

THE ELDEST WIFE 

He is wonderful. Only sometimes we wish his 
heart would harden a little to the distress of 
others that he might take more thought for his 
own affairs. 
ali {taking the cup from the Youngest Wife) 
Oh, he's your brother? 

THE YOUNGEST WIFE 

Dear husband, do not call him my brother again. 
Let him tell you for what he was beaten. {She 
rejoins the Eldest Wife.) 

ali {lifts Hazan and gives him a drink.) 

275 



PEARL OF DAWN 



hazan (not fully conscious) 

You may kill me if you like. It is the will of 
Allah. 

ALI 

Why should I kill you, brother? 

HAZAN 

Ah, it is you, Ali. Where have you brought me? 

ALI 

To my house. 

HAZAN 

No, no! You must not. (Attempting to rise.) 
My own sister, your youngest wife 3 would have 
me driven out. 

ALI 

What have you done, brother? 

HAZAN 

I was found — in the harem of my neighbor. 

ALI 

With his — wives? 

HAZAN 

His favorite. 

\LI 

Alas, brother, why did you do this? 

HAZAN 

Ali, you are too good; you do not know sin. 

ALI 

Do I not? Have I not eyes, brother? 

HAZAN 

I do not know, myself, why I sinned. 

ALI 

That is sin, indeed. 

HAZAN 

Yes, I have sinned and I have been caught, 
wounded with swords and beaten with whips. 
276 



PEARL OF DAWN 



Then, when the breath came back into my 
body they stood before me with her — my be- 
loved — and struck off her head before me so 
that I was blinded with her blood. Oh Allah! 
Allah! {He weeps.) 

ALI 

Shall I not arm you against them that did this? 
hazan {regaining some of his self-control) 

No, dear brother; it was done by decree of the 
Caliph, Haroun al Raschid the Good. 

ALI 

Alas, then your case is hopeless. 
hazan {struggling up on one elbow, his eyes bright 
with fever) 
No, it is not. 

ALI 

Indeed, I can see no hope for you. 

HAZAN 

Allah is merciful. I have learned it here in your 
shop. That is why he would not answer my 
prayers for death. That is why I shall leave 
your house at once with my wounds healed. 
{He struggles to his feet.) 

ALI 

A miracle? 

HAZAN 

The miraculous mercy of Allah! Listen, brother 
— neither the sharp edges of the swords nor the 
blows of whips have robbed me of my golden 
hour. You say to yourself "but one hour?" 
Why, it might have been but a minute. It is 
written in the book of man's life that such things 
shall not last long; we should then lose our inter- 
est in heaven. And look — 
277 



PEARL OF DAWN 



A LI 

Where, brother? 

HAZAN 

Just before me. 

ALI 

I see nothing. 

HAZAN 

Ah, you cannot see her, but I do, and I shall 
never lose sight of her image while I live. I 
shall go to the desert, where my disgrace will 
not be known, and her ghost will lead the way 
and comfort me. Allah is merciful! 

ALI 

No! Do not go! 
the youngest wife {has come down to them with a 
bag and a large cloak) 

Dear husband, I bring a cloak and food for this 
unfortunate man. You, dear husband, are Ali 
the merchant, and have a duty to your cus- 
tomers. Let the unfortunate man, who was my 
brother before his sin, go his way lest your cus- 
tomers think evil of Ali the good. 

ALI 

No, no ! 

HAZAN 

The Youngest Wife is right, O Ali the good ! Let 

me go my way in peace. {He puts on the cloak, 

takes the bag and starts for the door.) 
haroun and his vizier {enter the shop, coming 

down toward Ali.) 
hazan {turning in the doorway) 

The blessings of Allah on this household! {Then 

to the moonlight outside.) Lead on! {He leaves 

the shop.) 

278 



PEARL OF DAWN 



HAROUN 

To whom did he speak the last words? 

ALI 

To a ghost. The unfortunate man has sinned 
and suffered. 

HAROUN 

Too bad, too bad! 

ALI 

Isn't it, now? 

HAROUN 

Don't you think the Caliph was too cruel? 

ALI 

Yes, of course. He has to be. People expect it 
of a man in his position. ... I suppose that, 
personally, he is as merciful a man as any of us. 

VIZIER 

I am sure the Caliph would like to hear himself 
so well commended. 

HAROUN 

You are the merchant, Ali the good? 
ali {simply) 

I am the merchant, Ali. 

THE FAVORITE 

I have been shopping in the bazaar all after- 
noon, and I am very tired. I must rest. 

ALI 

Conduct the lady to a place of rest. 
the eldest wife {leads the Favorite to the curtained 

divan^ 
ali {to the Youngest Wife) 

Show her silks. Do not lose the sale. Is coffee 

ready ? 

279 



PEARL OF DAWN 



THE YOUNGEST WIFE 

All ready to be poured. That Egyptian fabric 
— I cannot find it. 

the eldest wife {joins her in the search) 

a li {handing a cup of coffee to Haroun) 

May I offer you gentlemen a cup of coffee, since 
the Caliph has outlawed more stimulating hos- 
pitality? 

the vizier 

Do you mean to tell us that you have nothing 
in your cellar? 

A li {giving him coffee) 

I am unfortunate. My house was built without 
a cellar. 

THE VIZIER 

Then you are, perforce, Ali the good. 
a li {absently filling a third cup) 

So I am called. 
the favorite {who has removed her cloak and veil) 

Do I smell coffee? 
the wives {busy with their search, do not hear her.) 
ali {comes down to her with the third cup.) 
the favorite {snatches up her veil with a little 

start, then, lowering it with a smile, takes the 

coffee, which she sips) 

How nice of you ! 
ali {devouring her with his eyes) 

I am richly rewarded. O, how unfortunate are 

the blind! 
haroun {signals to the Chief Eunuch, who tiptoes 

stealthily toward Ali.) 

THE FAVORITE 

Tell me more. 

280 



PEARL OF DAWN 



A LI 

Pearl of Dawn! 

THE FAVORITE 

But this is evening. 

ALI 

A night of miracles! Oh, that I — 

THE FAVORITE 

Be careful. We are watched. (She raises her 
veil circumspectly.) Has your shop ever been 
robbed?) 

ALI 

No, lady. My besetting vice is covetousness. 
I wish for what is my neighbor's. I dream of a 
jewel in a prince's turban. 

THE FAVORITE 

Such wishes sometimes come true. You should 
find ways. 
the wives {come down with a piece of white silk.) 

THE FAVORITE 

No, I want color. Show me all you have. {She 

goes up with them to the other side of the shop.) 
the nubian {stands regarding Ali y darkly.) 
ali (gazes y rapt, at the cushions where the Favorite 

rested. He becomes conscious of the Nubian, 

turns and smiles at him) 

Your master's lady is safe within my shop, good 

swordsman. (He rejoins the Caliph and the 

Vizier.) 
haroun (picking up the goods originally offered to 

the Favorite) 

This piece of silk. Is it good? 

ALI 

Gentlemen, no. That silk is of domestic make. 
the eldest wife (signals frantically to Ali.) 

281 



PEARL OF DAWN 



a li {disregarding her) 

It will turn yellow in a short time and the fabric 
will split. 

VIZIER 

Why, then, is it for sale in the shop of Ali the 
good? 

ALI 

Because it is cheap. The price is but ten pieces 
of silver. If you want silks for your turbans, 
buy this. If you do not find it good you may 
have, for the asking, another fabric or your 
money again. 

THE FAVORITE 

I will buy'some new veils. And, mind you, do 
not try to cheat me again. This is the shop of 
Ali the good. 
the wives {all talking at once) 

We would not think of cheating you. 

Our husband knows the stock. 

We made a mistake. 

It takes an expert to tell the goods apart. 
{Grouped about the Favorite, they remove her outer 
cloak. One holds a mirror for her, the other a box 
of veils , which she tries on , frequently allowing her 
face to be seen by Ali.) 

HAROUN 

Ali, you are a righteous man. Yet I have seen 
that you have compassion for the sinner. Can 
you not tell us why one man is righteous and an- 
other wicked? 
ali {attempting to give his attention to the question, 
but letting his eyes stray frequently to the Favorite) 
No two men sin for the same reason. Some sin 
because they are stupid, which is a sin of itself. 
282 



PEARL OF DAWN 



Others sin because they live many years behind, 
or ahead, of the age in which they are born. 
Still others sin because all their lives they have 
cherished a dream, perhaps not a good dream, 
but the dream of their lives. When the chance 
comes for the dream to come true they do not 
stop to consider the consequences to the others, 
nor even to themselves. Sin has intrigued the 
philosophers of every age and nation. As for 
myself, I know that I might sin, and in this wise. 
Suppose two robbers met upon the street in 
Bagdad — {As he talks the lights fade out.) 

The scene changes. 
scene three: A Street. 

A ROBBER CAPTAIN" AND HIS LIEUTENANT {enter 

from opposite directions — both carry lanterns.) 

CAPTAIN 

Well, how many purses ? 

LIEUTENANT 

None, yet, but I have news. Haroun al Raschid 
the Good is in the shop of the merchant Ali, 
also called "the good." 

CAPTAIN 

"The good ,, — to be cursed with a title like that! 
Was the Caliph spending freely there? 

LIEUTENANT 

He will, no fear. Ali is a shrewd merchant. 

CAPTAIN 

The more he spends, the more for us to take. 
But he doesn't spend fast enough. I wish I had 
force enough to swoop down on his treasury. 
283 



PEARL OF DAWN 



LIEUTENANT 

It is well guarded. 

CAPTAIN 

Well guarded — yes, so is he. And well he need 
be, for banishing wine from Bagdad. My 
throat's dusty as a carpet in the bazaar. Who 
are these? 

LIEUTENANT 

The Caliph, his Vizier, and his Favorite. Hide 
quickly, the patrol will follow them. {They hide 
at the end of the street?) 

the nubian (enter s and passes along the street, fol- 
lowed by the Favorite, carried in a tiny palanquin, 
with a lantern in its canopy?) 

the caliph and his vizier (follow a few paces be- 
hind, also carrying lanterns?) 

THE VIZIER 

You paid him too much for the silk. 

HAROUN 

I paid, not for the silk, but for the man. Such 
honesty is priceless. Had I more of it in Bag- 
dad, I might dispense with guards and patrols. 

THE VIZIER 

Until you get it, though — ah, here they come. 
the patrol {enters, standing, ready to follow the 
Caliph?) 

HAROUN 

Do you think he knew me for the Caliph ? 
the vizier 

Of course he did. I have told you a thousand 
times that your incognito deceives no one but 
yourself. (They disappear, followed by the 
patrol?) 

284 



PEARL OF DAWN 



the robber captain (comes out, with his Lieu- 
tenant ,J c rom their hiding-place) 
There goes the robber of wine. . . . Our way is 
clear. Call the men. We'll fall upon the Ali 
the moment his harem is alseep — be careful not 
to wake the women — they're worse than any 
dog — a bone will not silence them. 

The lights fade out as they leave 

scene four: The Shop — The lights are dim. 

ali (is discovered, standing beside the curtained 
divan, lost in thought, alone?) 

the wives (from another room) 
Good-night, good-night! 

ALI 

Good-night! (He draws the curtain across the 
doorway to the street and comes down to the spot 
where the Favorite tried on the veils. He finds on 
the floor the veil which she wore, which he takes to 
the chest in the center of the room, upon which he 
sits with the veil at his lips, and is presently lost 
in dreams.) 

(A naked arm appears at the curtain to the street 
and pulls it aside a little?) 

THE ROBBER CAPTAIN AND THE LIEUTENANT (steal 

into the room. They have left their cloaks outside 
and their knives gleam wickedly in the dim light. 
They waken Ali, presenting their knives to his ribs 
to prevent outcry?) 

ALI 

Mercy! 

285 



PEARL OF DAWN 



THE CAPTAIN 

Tell us where your treasure is hid and no harm 
shall come to you. 

ALI 

In the box I sit on. 

the robbers (dump him unceremoniously of the 

chest and open it.) 
the captain {lifting a bottle) 

By the beard of the Prophet, wine ! 

ALI 

Even so. 
the captain 

Sly dog! Ali the good! Why, he has twenty 

varieties of bottled drunkenness ! 
lieutenant 

But how if it be poisoned? 

THE CAPTAIN 

In these days of forbidden wine, make the giver 
drink with you. Come, merchant. (He fills a 
cup.) 

ALI 

As I put by the wine, myself — may we all live 
to be extremely wicked ! (He drinks?) 

LIEUTENANT 

The man is moonstruck! 
captain (chuckling) 

Ali the good, extremely wicked? (He drinks — 

wine dribbles down his chin?) 
ali (mopping it up with a napkin from the chest) 

Don't waste it, good Captain. There isn't much 

left. 

CAPTAIN 

Enough for the evening, good merchant. (Pours 
himself another drink.) 

286 



PEARL OF DAWN 



ALI 

And after that? 

CAPTAIN 

After that, who cares? {He drinks.) 

ALI 

Could I but catch that thought ! {He drops the 
Favorite's veil.) 
lieutenant {snatches it up with a ribald exclama < 
Hon,) 

ALI 

Give it me! 

CAPTAIN 

I told you he was a sly dog! Ali the good, a ha- 
rem robber, a beauty snatcher! Ah, old fox! 

LIEUTENANT 

Let it be, merchant, or I'll give you the knife in- 
stead. {He thrusts at Ali.) 
ali {with a wrestler s trick, throws him on the floor. 
He retrieves the veil as the man sprawls.) 

CAPTAIN 

Serves you right. Shouldn't interfere with an- 
other man's souvenirs. What's she like, mer- 
chant? 
ali 

She is the Pearl of Dawn ! 

CAPTAIN 

Marvelously accurate description! Identify her 
immediately. Where's she live? 

ALI 

That is my secret. 

CAPTAIN 

Must find this out. {He places the point of his 
knife between Alis ribs.) 
lieutenant {does the same on the other side.) 
19 287 



PEARL OF DAWN 



ALI 

It is the will of Allah. I will tell ... All my 
life I have been seeking for naughtiness. 

CAPTAIN 

AH the good! {He laughs boisterously.) 

ALI 

That name was not of my own seeking. I own 
the largest library of forbidden books in Bagdad. 

CAPTAIN 

Some day when I am sober 

ALI 

If you are ever sober you may look at them. I 
assure you they have been a great disappoint- 
ment. None of them really come up to their 
reputations. 

CAPTAIN 

But the censors 

ALI 

The censors wouldn't know real naughtiness if 
they met it. And I have wasted my substance 
to see all tne dancers and nautch girls of Turkey 
and Egypt. 
the captain (rubbing his hands) 
Ah, an epicure! 

ALI 

Very, very stupid and not at all naughty. Dis- 
appointments, every one. So I have thought 
a great deal about naughtiness, and Allah has 
given me the key to the riddle. 
the captain 
Well? 

ALI 

Naughtiness is like the kingdom of Heaven. 
It lies within you. I have tended the naughti- 

288 



PEARL OF DAWN 



ness in my heart like a poppy garden until to- 
day — 

THE CAPTAIN 

To-day you re a bolder fellow than I am, you 
were going to say. 

LIEUTENANT 

Captain, he's tricked you. He's led you away 
from the secret. 
captain (his knife at Alls ribs) 
Quickly — where does she live? 

ALI 

It is the will of Allah. She lives in the palace of 
the Caliph. 

CAPTAIN 

Ah, the sly dog! No wonder he is vain! 

ALI 

The Pearl of Dawn ! 
captain (after emptying his cup) 

What would you give to hold the Pearl of 
Dawn — to have her, perhaps. 

ALI 

Anything! 

CAPTAIN 

Now, perhaps, it might be managed if you — 
No, no; it won't do. (He finishes another cup.) 

ALI 

Try me. 

CAPTAIN 

You are determined? Listen, then. About the 
Caliph's house there is one place where the wall 
may be reached from a neighboring roof. Once 
inside, the harem is but one door away. The 
treasury — but that is my affair. You have the 
289 



PEARL OF DAWN 



courage to climb that wall upon the shoulders 
of my men and let a rope down after you ? 

ALI 

Command me! 

CAPTAIN 

Come, then! 

ALI 

A moment only. A letter for my wives, lest they 
grieve too loudly for my absence. 

captain {looking over Alis shoulder as he writes) 
"Am held captive by robbers. Give no alarm, 
but send two thousand sequins at once to the 
old gate of the city." Ah, sly dog! Lead on, 
O Prince of Evil! (The three men go out into the 
street after putting out the light.) 

women's voices (rise in the next room from a mur- 
mur to an argument.) 

the youngest wife (coming from behind the cur- 
tains in her nightdress •, with a lantern) 
But I'm sure I heard voices. (She goes to the 
divan> and> finding it empty ', begins to search the 
room.) Husband is not here! The chest is 
open! A letter! (She reads it and screams^) 

the other wives (run in; they all talk at once) 
Let me see it! How can I when you — But I 
don't understand. It can't be true. 
But think — robbers in here and gone without 
noise. I knew there was something wrong. You 
told me to be quiet. What shall we do ? Ali says 
to give no alarm. But they may murder him. 
Two thousand sequins! Let's call the patrol! 
Allah be merciful! Help! Robbers! Thieves! 
290 



PEARL OF DAWN 



{Their chatter rises to a shriek, and the Youngest 
Wife goes tearing out into the street, followed by 
the others, all screaming?) 

The lights fade out. The scene change 's 

scene five: A Street. 
A patrol passes. The Captain, Ali, the Lieu- 
tenant, and sundry robbers enter warily, watching 
the patrol. 

captain {stopping in a peevish, alcoholic reaction) 
I don't like it. Something will go wrong, I know. 
Bagdad is alive with patrols. Tomorrow 
night — 

a li {with bravado — also slightly alcoholic) 
Tomorrow — why, tomorrow I may be 
Myself with ten thousand yesterdays. 

CAPTAIN 

Stop quoting that damned Persian! His verses 
are full of wine, and they make me thirsty. 
{Struck by a happier thought.) Let's go back 
and have another drink! 
a li {not budging, but pointing ahead) 

Have you forgotten the Caliph's treasury? 
Haroun al Raschid may feel generous in the 
morning and give half of it away to somebody. 
Think of taking, in one night, all the gold your 
men could carry! 

CAPTAIN 

Being wicked in large doses, aren't you? 

ALI 

I have been good for a long, long time. 
lieutenant {starting sharply) 
What's that — 

291 



PEARL OF DAWN 



ali (laughing) 

Your shadow on the wall. What a bold company 
I have joined! 

captain (roaring) 

Coward! Learn courage from this brave mer- 
chant, Ali the good! Let all brave men follow 
me. (He struts off.) 

ALI 

I follow 

(The party goes out — A patrol passes. From 
one side comes a murmur which swells in volume 
to the shrieks of Alls wives y who now appear in 
their night robes.) 

the wives (all at once) 

Help, help, help! Thieves, thieves, Watch ho! 

Watch ho! 

Thieves! Thieves! Watch ho! Watch ho! 

Help! Help! 

Watch ho! Watch ho! Help! Help! Help! 

Thieves ! 
the patrol (returns on the run.) 
the wives (loudly and all at once) 

Ali the merchant has been stolen by robbers 

while we slept, etc. 

Robbers have kidnapped Ali the good for ran- 
som, etc. 

My husband is in the hands of robbers! He left 

this note, etc. 

ONE OF THE PATROL (bawling) 

One at a time — one at a time! 
the wives (all at once^ though less stridently) 
While we slept, robbers broke into our house. 
They broke into my husband's chest and stole. 
292 



PEARL OF DAWN 



Not content with that they have taken him for 
ransom, forcing him to leave this note here. 
What shall we do? 

You must help us to find our husband, etc. 
How can you stand here and do nothing? 
Don't you understand that robbers have entered 
our house and stolen and taken away our hus- 
band? 

If we do not pay the ransom they will kill him; 
and we can't pay it because all our money is 
stolen, etc. 

I shall die if you don't save him. Scour the 
streets! Go at once! Spread the alarm! He is 
our husband. If he dies our hearts perish also! 
Draw your swords ! 
Read the letter! 
Save him from the robbers! 
the patrol {puts its hands to its ears?) 

The lights fade out. The gabble subsides to a 
murmur ; but does not stop, swelling again as the 
lights come up on the next scene. 

scene six: The Favorite's Chamber. 

On the right, a draped bed. Cushions at intervals 
on the floor. Several colored lamps hang from the 
ceiling. As the lights come up the noise turns out 
to be the chatter of three houri seated in the center 
of the room. 

three houri {all three at once) 

First: I don't see why on earth she paid fifty 
sequins for that veil. I wouldn't trade at that 
shop anyway. They're cheats. She doesn't use 
293 



PEARL OF DAWN 



any judgment at all in her shopping. That's 
why her clothes never look like anything. 
Second: Did you smell the perfumery she 
bought? When the Caliph smells it, someone 
else will be the favorite until his nose gets well. 
I don't know how she gets away with it — a per- 
son with no more taste than that. Some women 
have all the luck. 

Third: Then the Persian said to me, "Why are 
you content to be a maid for the Favorite? You 
should be favorite yourself. Run away with 
me and I will make you favorite over forty 
wives. The idea! I gave him one look and I 
told him — " 

chief eunuch {appearing in the doorway) 

Silence. (The chatter ceases abruptly?) The hus- 
band comes! 

the houri (prostrate themselves on the floor?) 

haroun al raschid (enters, followed by the Vizier) 
That will do, girls. Get up. Take them away, 
Captain. 

thehouri (go out, salamming, followed by the Chief 
Eunuch?) 

haroun (sighing as he sits on a cushion) 
They're always underfoot. 

VIZIER 

Shall I have a hundred of them beheaded? 

HAROUN 

No, the executioner already complains of over- 
work. 

VIZIER 

I might give them away to the Bashaw. 

HAROUN 

No. No other potentate has my serene patience. 
294 



PEARL OF DAWN 



I must endure them. It is the will of Allah! 
{He looks toward the canopy.) 
vizier {claps his hands.) 

HAROUN 

She sleeps. 
vizier {chuckles audibly) 

HAROUN 

You do not trust her. 

VIZIER 

I trust her to make an effective entrance always. 

HAROUN 

She sleeps. I will waken her. {He strikes a bell.) 

VIZIER 

Two more. 
haroun {strikes the bell again twice. On the third 

stroke the curtains of the bed part, disclosing the 

Favorite, becomingly costumed and well-lighted by 

a lamp within the canopy?) 
the favorite {affects to rub her eyes, then, seeing 

Haroun, sinks gracefully to the floor and kisses 

his slipper?) 
haroun {to the Vizier) 

Well? 

VIZIER 

Perfect — I knew she would be. 
haroun 

Could you resist her? 

VIZIER 

In your place, I couldn't. In mine, I have to. 

FAVORITE 

That's the nicest thing he has said to me. 

HAROUN 

Doesn't he like you? 

295 



PEARL OF DAWN 



FAVORITE 

Ask him. 

HAROUN 

Well? 

VIZIER 

There is no lady in Turkey more delightful — 
favorite {squeals and claps her hands.) 
vizier {finishing) 

— To look at. 
haroun {fondling the Favorite) 

That's all you know about it. 
the chief eunuch {enters, prostrates himself 

before Haroun and hands him a parchment, which 

Haroun passes to the Vizier, who reads it and rises.) 

HAROUN 

Well? 

VIZIER 

Robbers are at work in the city. 

haroun {abruptly drops the Favorite sprawling 
on the cushions, and jumps up) 
I thought I had rid Bagdad of those vermin! 
Here is work for us. My chainmail and my 
sword! {He rushes out, the other men following.) 

favorite {much injured, gets up and adjusts her 
hair) 

Allah make me faithful to such a husband! {She 
shakes her head, then dismisses the matter from her 
mind and disappears behind the bed curtains. A 
garment or two is flung out onto the cushion.) 

{A rope drops from an unseen window in the top 
of the corridor. Ali comes down the rope, looks 
into the room and then around the turn. At his 
signal, the Robber Captain also descends the rope.) 
296 



PEARL OF DAWN 



THE CAPTAIN 

You're as good as your word. Well, your treas- 
ure is in here. {Indicating the room.) I'll let my 
men in by the door in the passage here. Allah 
be with you! We all go out by this door. {He 
disappears around the corner?) 

a li {lifts the veil to his lips. As he lowers it \ his eye 
falls on the garments lying on the cushions. He 
lifts these also to his lips and holds them there, 
intoxicated.) 

the chief eunuch {tiptoes around the corridor, a 
bloody scimitar in his hands. Seeing Alt, he 
comes behind him and lifts his weapon?) 

the favorite {looks out from the canopy) 
Behind you! 

ali {turns and so does the Chief Eunuch. Ali pulls 
the Chief Eunuch' s feet from under him.) 

the favorite {still comparatively clothe 'd, hands 
Ali scarves to bind the Chief Eunuch. When he 
is neatly trussed up, she says) 
I knew you'd come! 

ALI 

Pearl of Dawn! {A great tumult is heard in the 
corridor?) 

the favorite 

They are coming this way. Quickly, in the bed! 
{They pick up the Chief Eunuch and hide him 
under the canopy. The Favorite pushes Ali in 
after him and sits hastily?) 

haroun {enters, brandishing a sword and driving a 
robber before him, who is fighting desperately for 
his life. Haroun finishes him with a thrust, and, 
kicking him, wipes his sword on his sash.) 
297 



PEARL OF DAWN 



The devils are in the palace. Have they dis- 
turbed you? 

FAVORITE 

I haven't heard a sound. 

HAROUN 

Guard! Guard! 
a guard (runs in, panting) 

HAROUN 

Where are the rest? 

GUARD 

Fighting in the Treasury. 

HAROUN 

Remove this carrion ! (He storms out.) 
guard (drags the corpse out by its feet.) 
favorite (looks around the corridor) 

Now! . 
a li (comes out from behind canopy) 

Pearl of Dawn ! 
the robber captain (darts infrom the corridor and 

hides in the shadow at one side.) 
the favorite (s 'creaming, disappears under the 

canopy.) 
A guard (dashes into the room.) 
the captain (springing on him, stabs him in the 

back and hides again as.) 
two guards (run in. Seeing Ali, they attack him.) 
two houri (run in, screaming, and seeing the melee 

run out again.) 
ali (has picked up the sword of the robber whom 

Haroun killed, and defends himself. He kills one 

guard. The other guard disarms him. He springs 

under the other guard's sword and they both go 

down with a crash.) 

298 



PEARL OF DAWN 



the captain (finishes the guard with his knife, and 

pulls him of Ally whom he shakes) 

Come quickly! I left the door open. 
a li (pulls himself up painfully on one elbow, much 

the worse for his fall?) 
the captain (pulls the Favorite from behind the 

curtains and carries her off, struggling vigorously.) 
ali (staggers to his feet, looks under the canopy, and 

steps over the dead bodies) 

Must find her — must find — (He disappears in 

the turn of the corridor.) 
haroun (storms in, followed by the Vizier) 

I thought we had killed all of them, and look 

here! (He darts to the bed and parts the curtains. 

The Chief Eunuch, bound and gagged, is sitting 

on the edge of the bed. Haroun releases him.) 

HAROUN 

Where is she? 
the chief eunuch (points to the corridor.) 
three houri (run in screaming and throw them- 
selves at Haroun' s feet.) 
haroun 

Out, out of my way! (He flings them off. He 
tears out, followed by the Vizier and the Chief 
Eunuch?) 

The lights fade out. The scene changes. 

scene seven: A Street. 

Enter the Robber Captain, carrying the Favorite, 
whom he sets unceremoniously on her feet, 

THE CAPTAIN 

Stand awhile! Oof! What does Haroun feed 
his women to make them so heavy? 
299 



PEARL OF DAWN 



THE FAVORITE 

Nobody asked you to carry me. 

THE CAPTAIN 

Oh, ho! You would have walked it, eh? 

THE FAVORITE 

With the right man. 

THE CAPTAIN 

I'm the right man. Ali thinks he is, but I 
brought you off and / keep you. What do you 
say to that? 

THE FAVORITE 

If Ali lets you keep me, then you are the right 
man. 

THE CAPTAIN 

What a mind you have! I like you better all the 
time. 

THE FAVORITE 

See, here comes Ali. 
ali {enters hurriedly) 

The chase is close behind. We must hurry. 

THE CAPTAIN 

We must? Go on, no one will hinder vou! 

ALI 

Do you mean — then you don't — 

THE CAPTAIN 

You led me into a trap. My men are dead. 

THE FAVORITE 

He led you ? 

THE CAPTAIN 

To find you. The treasury was full of armed 
men. 

ALI 

I could not know that. Do you forget that I, 
too, have fought — I, too, have stolen? 
300 



PEARL OF DAWN 



THE CAPTAIN 

Stolen what? 

ALI 

The Pearl of Dawn. 

THE CAPTAIN 

Ha! It was my arms that carried her. I shall 
keep her myself. You — what does she want 
with you, a merchant — a dreamer? I am a man 
of action! She will come with me and of her 
own accord. 
ali (to the Favorite) 
Speak! 

THE FAVORITE 

I go with him who takes me. 
ali (stabs the Captain without warning and, strad- 
dling his body, lifts the Favorite in his arms) 
Pearl of Dawn ! 

THE FAVORITE 

I knew you would! (The pursuit sounds close 

at hand.) 
ali (hurries off with the Favorite.) 
haroun al raschid (enters, running with drawn 

sword, and with his retinue strung out behind him. 

He comes upon the captain s body) 

Lights! Lights here! 
the vizier (holding a lantern to the Captain s face) 

It is the captain of the robbers. Now all of them 

are dead. 

HAROUN 

What have they done with her? Where is she? 

THE VIZIER 

She has possibly hidden from them. Did you 
search the palace? 

301 



PEARL OF DAWN 



HAROUN 

I tell you, she is stolen from me! 

THE VIZIER 

This man's alive yet. He's trying to speak. 
haroun {leans close to listen?) 

THE CAPTAIN 

Find— AH — {summoning his strength for a final 
sneer) the good! {He dies.) 

HAROUN 

Ha! 

He goes tearing off, followed by his retinue, 
as the lights fade out. 

scene eight: The Shop. 

ali {enters, badly out of breath, carrying the Favorite, 
whom he puts down as soon as they are inside?) 

the favorite {not altogether pleased) 
Is this where you were taking me? 

ali 

I know of no other place to go. I have thought 
of — this sort of thing — before, but I never got 
this far with it. {His hand on his stomach?) All 
this murder has upset me a little. 

THE FAVORITE 

I thought you were a man! Now, what are we 
to do? 
ali {sitting down on the chest, one hand on his 
stomach, ready to weep) 
I'm sure I don't know, 

THE FAVORITE 

Listen! {The pursuit is heard in the street out- 
side.) The guards! They're coming here! 
Save me! 

302 



PEARL OF DAWN 



ali {rising uncertainly and pointing to the divan) 

Hide over there ! {He staggers up to the doorway, 

taking a sword from the chest.) 
haroun al raschid {dashes through the door, his 

sword whirling before him in vicious circles?) 
ali {defending himself as best he can, backs down 

into the middle of the room?) 
the vizier {following closely, strikes Alls sword 

from his hand?) 
ali {recognizing his antagonist) 

Mercy on a poor merchant, O Haroun al Rtschid 

the Good! 

HAROUN 

Where is she? 

ALI 

There, quite safe, and very angry. 
the favorite {is very angry, indeed, and beats the 

pillows with her fists?) 
haroun {steps down to look at her.) 
the Nubian {elevates his sword over the prostrate 

merchant?) 

THE VIZIER 

Stop! Let the Caliph give the word for his 
death! 

ali {weeping) 

Sir, that was most unkind. I had already re- 
signed myself to dying, and now I will have it 
to do all over again. 

haroun 

Take him to the street. Let him first be 
whipped with Hvg hundred lashes. Then let 
one hundred lashes be laid upon the soles of his 
feet. After that, slit his tongue, cut off his hands 
and feet. After that, drag him through the 
20 303 



PEARL OF DAWN 



streets at the tail of a wild horse. When he 
dies, cut his body in twelve pieces and feed it to 
the lions. 

THE VIZIER 

Is that all? 

HAROUN 

No. Do all this in the streets of Bagdad at 
dawn, and do not begin until I give the word. 

ALI 

It is the will of Allah! (He marches out, followed 

closely by the Vizier ; the Nubian, and the guards?) 
haroun (turning on the Favorite) 

You! 
the favorite (yawning) 

Why be angry with me? I've lost a whole 

night's sleep on account of the filthy robbers. 

Your house should be better guarded! 
haroun (partly mollified, but still suspicious) 

You and this dog of a merchant! 

THE FAVORITE 

He is a disappointment, isn't he? See, it is al- 
most day. Let us go and see him whipped. 
(As she speaks, she takes him by the hand and goes 
out talking to him,) 

The lights fade out. The scene changes. 

scene nine: A Street. 

ali (lies on the ground, with his hands bound behind 
him. The Vizier stands watching him. The 
Nubian stands ready with a whip?) 

THE VIZIER 

Are you sorry, merchant? 
304 



PEARL OF DAWN 



ALI 

I shall be able to answer that truthfully only 
after I am dead. 

THE VIZIER 

That would be unusual. 

ALI 

Any truthful answer to that question would be 
unusual, sir. When men are sorry they pretend 
a defiance they do not feel and deny it. When 
they are not sorry they pretend repentance in 
the hope of getting off easier. 

THE VIZIER 

Can I do anything for you, merchant? 

ALI 

Yes. Persuade Haroun al Raschid, if you can, 
to leave out that part of my punishment in 
which the wild horse was mentioned. I shall 
be as dead by that time as I am ever going to 
be, and there is no need to annoy the poor horse 
with my domestic shortcomings. 
haroun {enters with the Favorite, who has reached 
the climax of a long and thrilling tale.) 

THE FAVORITE 

Then the robber captain carried me off, fighting 
and struggling every step of the way. He must 
have carried me a thousand cubits. Then we 
heard steps behind us. The robber captain put 
me down and turned. Ali the merchant came 
running up with drawn sword. "Dog!" he 
shouted in a voice of thunder, "you have stolen 
the favorite of Haroun al Raschid the Good. 
Release her or perish." Then they fought and 
the merchant killed the robber captain. Then, 
as he fell, we heard others running up the street. 
3°5 



PEARL OF DAWN 



The merchant did not know whether they were 
friends or enemies, so he carried me to his shop, 
which was the nearest place of safety. 
haroun {looking at All doubtfully) 
But why did he fight me? 

THE FAVORITE 

You came in with a rush, and he did not know 
whether you were friend or foe. 

HAROUN 

Merchant, why didn't you tell me this? 

ALI 

How could I expect Haroun al Raschid the 
Good to believe anything so improbable? 

HAROUN 

I don't see yet, though. (To the Vizier?) Do 
you believe it? 

THE VIZIER 

I? 

HAROUN 

Why do I ask you? You never believe any- 
thing! Merchant, what shall I believe? 

ALI 

Believe what you would like to. That is the 
true secret of happiness. 

HAROUN 

Just one question — How came you with the 

robbers ? 
ali's wives {come tearing in, all talking at once, at 

the top of their voices. One of them holds the letter.) 
the vizier {shouting) 

Silence! 
haroun {reading the letter) 

Held for ransom! Merchant, I have done you a 

great injustice. Come to my house this after- 
306 



PEARL OF DAWN 



noon, when I have had time for sleep, and you 
shall be richly rewarded. Unbind him. {The 
Vizier liberates Ali.) 

THE ELDEST WIFE 

Then he is not to be whipped? 

HAROUN 

By no means. Go to your home. It is not 
seemly for the wives of Ali the good to go out 
on the streets unveiled and unclad. 

the wives {salaam and run out, very conscious of 
their attire?) 

the favorite {steps into her palanquin and is car- 
ried off, followed by all of the retinue but the 
Vizier, who stands back, watching Ali.) 

haroun {walking beside the palanquin) 
Try to get some sleep, merchant. 

ali {salaams, then rises quickly to watch the Favorite.) 

THE VIZIER 

I perceive that you are a man of some imagina- 
tion. 

ALI 

That has always been my undoing. It is forever 
leading me into trouble. 

THE VIZIER 

And what led you out of it this time? 

ALI 

I don't know — it sounds like a riddle. 

THE VIZIER 

It is a riddle, merchant. I leave it you to think 
upon. The answer is: Your imagination led you 
into trouble — and your innocence led you out. 
{He leaves.) 
ali {looking after him) 
Innocence? 

307 



PEARL OF DAWN 



a muezzin {shrieks his call to the faithful from a 

nearby tower.) 
ali {assumes the posture of a Mussulman at prayer) 

Allah il Allah! Allah il Allah! Make me bad! 

Make me bad! 

The lights fade out. The scene changes. 

scene ten: The Shop. 
Exactly as at the close of Scene Two, except that 
the Nubian has fallen asleep. Ali's voice is heard 
before the lights come up. 

ali {concluding his tale) 

Allah il Allah! Make me bad! And thus I 
might pray until the last muezzin had called 
the faithful from his tower and further sin might 
follow unless — 

the nubian {snoring) 
Z — z — z — z ! ! 

THE VIZIER 

He has no interest in sin. 

HAROUN 

Poor fellow, it is past his bedtime. {He rises 
and throws a purse to Ali.) Bring that piece of 
silk tomorrow afternoon to my house. And 
think of other sins you might commit, were you 
not Ali the good. 

ali {rising and looking at the Favorite) 
The thought shall not leave my mind. 

the vizier {giving Ali a purse) 

And do not forget to bring something from your 
library. 

ALI 

Gentlemen, your pardon. I must ask the way 
to your house. 

308 



PEARL OF DAWN 



haroun {delighted) 

What, you do not recognize me ? (To the Vizier.) 

I told you; I told you. (To Ali with a flourish.) 

I am the Caliph Haroun al Raschid. 
ali and his wives (salaaming) 

Haroun al Raschid the Good! 
haroun (in the doorway) 

The blessings of Allah on this household. (The 

party goes out.) 
the favorite (last to leave) 

And bring, yourself, the veils I have selected. 

(Gives Ali a pursed) 
ali (salaaming) 

Pearl of Dawn! 
the favorite (rouses the Nubian with a kick, and 

leaves.) 
ali (rises, jingling the purses) 

A fine night's business! And more tomorrow! 

He! He! He thought we didn't know him! 
the eldest wife (grimly) 

Whom were you thinking of while you told that 

story? 

THE YOUNGEST WIFE 

Just what I want to know! 
ali (slipping his arms about them and displaying 
the purses) 

Of new clothes for both of you, my loves. It is 
written that the want of money is the root of all 
evil. 



CURTAIN 



309 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 

by George Kelly 



Finders-Keepers was presented at the Palace Theatre^ 
New York City, on Monday, October 233 1916, 
with the following cast: 

Eugene Aldrid Mr. George Kelly 

Mrs. Aldrid, his wife Miss Anne Cleveland 

Mrs. Hampton, a neighbor Miss Nora O'Connor 

The action of the play takes place in the living-room of Eugene 
Aldrid's home, which is located in an outlying suburb of the City 
of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The time is about five o'clock of 
a late-September afternoon. All curtains are of quiet cretonne, 
and there are sheaves of autumn-leaves about. The garden, 
through the window at the back, t is bright with scarlet sage. 

NOTE. — The form of the present manuscript is exactly that in 
which this play was presented continuously for a period of three years 
in the principal Keith and Orpheum Theatres of The United States of 
America and The Dominion of Canada. — Author. 



Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Application for permission to produce Finders-Keepers 

must be made to the author, in care of the publishers, 

Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



SCENE 

After a second's stillness , a door closes out at the 
right, and immediately Mrs. Aldrid enters 
through the archway, carrying several parcels, 
which she hastens to deposit on the center-table; 
then she straightens up and draws a deep breath. 
She is a trim blonde, in her late twenties, wearing 
a tailored coat-suit of fawn-colored serge, a toque 
of champagne silk, and a waist of very pale pink 
silk. Her slippers and stockings are of the lighter 
shades of brown, and she wears a quite long string 
of freakish black-and-yellow beads. Before she has 
had time to take the second breath, the bronze clock 
on the mantelpiece, at the left, strikes five. She 
glances at it. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Heavens! five (/clock! (She hurriedly removes 
her coat and hat, lays them on the sofa in front of 
the mantelpiece, and, with a glance at herself in the 
mirror over the mantelpiece, vanishes through the 
door at the left. Then there is a slight pause; and 
Eugene Aldrid enters through the archway from 
the right, carrying a roll of blue-prints in one hand, 
and the evening paper in the other. He is a tall 
and thin, very intelligent-looking man of perhaps 
thirty-three, wearing a dark-blue, double-breasted 
business suit, dark shoes, and a dark tie. He sets 
the roll of blue-prints down on the center-table, and 
313 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



then Mrs. Aldrid speaks to him from the room out 
at the left) Is that you. Gene ? 
aldrid (looking toward the left, and then starting 
over towards his desk at the right) 
Yes. 

MRS. ALDRID 

You must have been right behind me. 
aldrid {laying the newspaper on his desk.) 

Did you just get in? 
mrs. aldrid {coming into the room from the left, 

adjusting a bungalow apron) 

This minute, — I've been in town shopping; I 

had no idea it was so late. 
aldrid {picking up a telegram from his desk, and 

opening it) 

It's after five. 

MRS. ALDRID 

I know it is; and there isn't a thing ready; you'll 

have to wait a while for your dinner. 
aldrid {with an exaggerated sigh of resignation) 

Ah — ho! {Reads the telegram.) 
MRS. aldrid 

Did you come out on the four-fifty-three? 
aldrid {without looking up) 

Yes; you weren't on it, were you? 

MRS. ALDRID 

No, I'd intended coming out on the train, but — 
something happened that made me change my 
mind. 
aldrid {looking straight ahead, thinking; and tap- 
ping the telegram, which he has finished reading, 
against his hand) 

Spaulding. {Turning suddenly to Mrs. Aldrid?) 
What? Why — what happened? 
314 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



mrs. aldrid (assuming an air of great confidence) 
Wait till I tell you! (She steps to the back of the 
room and looks keenly out into the hallway, to as- 
sure herself that no one is within hearing — then 
comes down to the left of her husband, who watches 
her curiously?) You know, I went into town this 
afternoon to get some Georgette Crepe for that 
new blouse of mine. 

ALDRID 

Yes. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Well, — as I went into the Market Street en- 
trance of Blum's — you know, there's a glove- 
counter right inside the Market Street door. 
(Aldrid nods?) Well, I went over to ask the 
saleslady where I could get the Crepe; and, as 
I leaned over to ask her, I stepped on some- 
thing: it felt like a bracelet or something — rather 
soft — and yet it was metallic. 

ALDRID 

Yes. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Well, I didn't pay any attention to it at first, — 
I thought it might be a joke or something, — 
you know, they're always doing that sort of 
thing in those Department Stores. 

ALDRID 

Yes, I know. 

MRS. ALDRID 

But, as I started away from the counter, I just 
glanced down at the floor; and, what do you 
suppose it was? 

ALDRID 

What? 

315 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



MRS. ALDRID 

A purse — one of those little gold, mesh purses. 

ALDRID 

Anything in it? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Well, now, wait till I tell you. I didn't open it 
right away; I was afraid someone might be 
looking; so I waited till I got up to the writing- 
room before I opened it: and, what do you sup- 
pose was in it? 

ALDRID 

What? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Four — hundred — dollars. 
aldrid {after a slight pause) 
Four hundred dollars ? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Hum — hum. 
aldrid {incredulously) 
Where is it? 

MRS. ALDRID 

In my pocketbook. 

ALDRID 

Well, are you sure it's real money? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Of course it is; I'll show it to you in a minute. 
You know, I could scarcely believe my eyes at 
first; because, you know, IVe never found any- 
thing in all my life; and then to suddenly pick 
up eight fifty-dollar bills. Positively, Gene, I 
don't know how I ever got home. 

ALDRID 

Were they all fifties? 

3 J 6 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



MRS. ALDRID 

Hum-hum; and brand-new ones at that; they 
look as though they'd just been taken out of a 
bank. 
aldrid {turning suddenly and leaning on the chair 
in front of his desk, then looking at her) 
Can you imagine losing that ! 

MRS. ALDRID 

Losing it? Can you imagine finding it? I 
thought I was seeing things. (She starts towards 
the door at the left?) 

ALDRID 

Did you say anything about it? 
mrs. aldrid {stopping, and turning to him) 
How do you mean ? 

ALDRID 

At the "Lost and Found"? 

MRS. ALDRID 

No, of course I didn't; what do you think I am. 

ALDRID 

You might have gotten in touch with the owner. 

mrs. aldrid (smiling indulgently) 

Positively, Gene, you talk like a boy from the 
country. 

aldrid 
Why so ? 

mrs. aldrid (with a touch of impatience, and com- 
ing to the left of the center-table) 
Because you do! Don't you know that if I were 
to turn that amount of money into a "Lost and 
Found" desk, I'd stand just about as much 
chance of ever seeing it again as I would of see- 
ing the North Pole? 

317 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



ALDRID 

Well, you wouldn't expect ever to see it again 
if it were returned to the owner? 

MRS. ALDRID 

And, how would I know that it had been re- 
turned to the owner? 

ALDRID 

Oh, everybody isn't dishonest! (Glances through 
the telegram again,) 

MRS. ALDRID 

Well, you let people get their hands on four 
hundred dollars — you'll find out how many of 
them are honest! Turn that amount of money 
over to one of those "Lost and Found" clerks — 
he'd soon find an owner for it, believe me! {She 
starts for the door at the left.) 
aldrid {crushing the telegram in his hand) 

What are you going to do with it? {She stops 
at the door and looks back at him. He gracefully 
tosses the telegram overhand into the waste-paper 
basket below his desk.) 

MRS. ALDRID 

I'm going to keep it! 

ALDRID 

Ho! 

mrs. aldrid {surprised that he should ask such a 
question) 

What do you suppose I'm going to do with it — 
throw it away? It's as good in my pocket as it 
is in anybody's else ! {He turns and looks at her 
in a way that disconcerts her slightly ', but, as he 
withdraws his eyes in turning to his desk, she re- 
gains herself, and comes a step or two farther into 

318 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



the room?) I can get awnings for this whole 
house for that — and a Victrola, too! 

aldrid {coming over to the center-table for his blue- 
prints , after looking for them on his desk) 
You'd better not count your chickens before 
they're hatched. 

mrs. aldrid {after looking at him for a second) 
What do you mean? 

aldrid {picking up the roll of blue-prints from the 
table > and speaking rather abstractedly) 
Why, there'll very likely be an ad for it in one 
of the morning papers. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Well, what if there is ? 
aldrid {looking at the blue-prints) 

Nothing, only you'd simply have to return it, 

that's all. 
mrs. aldrid {after thinking for a second, and with 

an expression of sullen calculation) 

I don't see why I should. {He raises his eyes 

from the blue-prints and looks at her quizzically?) 

ALDRID 

You don't see why you should return lost prop- 
erty to the person who lost it? 

MRS. ALDRID 

That depends. 
aldrid {in a level tone) 

Upon what? 
mrs. aldrid {looking straight ahead) 

Whether or not I was sure he'd lost it. 
aldrid 

Couldn't you make sure? 
mrs. aldrid {after turning and looking at him) 

How? 

319 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



ALDRID 

Identification. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Not in this case. 

ALDRID 

Why not? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Because there isn't a solitary thing about it, 
Gene, by which it could possibly be identified: 
not a card or a paper of any kind! 

ALDRID 

How about the purse? 

MRS. ALDRID 

There are a million exactly like it; a plain, gold, 
mesh bag. {Indicating the desk at the right.) 
I've had one in that top drawer there for the 
past year. 

ALDRID 

Couldn't the money be described? 

MRS. ALDRID 

That wouldn't be any identification. 

ALDRID 

Why not? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Why, because — money is simply money! — un- 
less it's marked; and this isn't, because I've ex- 
amined it very carefully. 
aldrid {resting one end of the roll of blue-prints on 
the table y and leaning his elbow on the other end) 
So you don't see any possible way by which 
this money could be returned to its owner? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Not unless I took his word for it; {turning and 
320 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



looking at him) and, really, I don't see why I 
should do that. 

aldrid {evenly) 

What are you trying to do, make yourself be- 
lieve it belongs to you? 

mrs. aldrid (turning her head away) 
I found it. 

ALDRID 

And somebody else lost it. 

MRS. ALDRID 

I suppose so. 

ALDRID 

Possibly some poor man or woman. 

mrs. aldrid (with a little toss of her head) 
Now, don't get sentimental, please! 

aldrid (with a touch of impatience, and taking a 
couple of steps in front of the table towards her) 
That isn't sentiment at all! 

mrs. aldrid (turning to him sharply, and speaking 
incisively) 

No very poor man or woman has any eight 
fifty-dollar bills to lose. (She turns away, and 
secures a hairpin at the back of her head: he looks 
at her steadily.) And no matter who lost it, it'll 
be a very good lesson to him to be a little more 
careful in the future. 

aldrid 

I see. Well, why should he pay you four hun- 
dred dollars for that lesson ? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Nobody's paying me any four hundred dollars. 

ALDRID 

You've often lost things yourself, haven't you? 
321 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



mrs. aldrid {turning to him quickly) 
Yes, and I never got them back, either! 

ALDRID 

Whose fault was that? 
mrs. aldrid (turning away again) 
I don't know whose fault it was. 

ALDRID 

Well, try and think. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Unless the people who found them weren't hon- 
est enough to return them. (The door out at the 
right closes.) Who's that? (She starts for the 
archway at the right, tossing her apron onto the 
sofa as she goes.) 

aldrid (turning and crossing to his desk) 
Somebody at the door. 

mrs. aldrid (in a lowered tone) 

Don't say anything about this. (She reaches the 
archway.) Oh, it's you, Mrs. Hampton! (Al- 
drid half glances towards the archway, then picks 
up the evening paper and flips it open.) 

mrs. hampton (in the hallway) 
Yes, it's me. 

mrs. aldrid (rather effusively) 

Come right in ! (She extends her arm and hand, 
and leads Mrs. Hampton into the room. Mrs. 
Hampton is a dark woman, with a pale but lovely 
face, and a certain Madonna quality about her 
generally. She is of the sa?ne build as Mrs. Al- 
drid, and, apparently, of the same age. She wears 
a coat-suit of good black, a white-silk waist, with 
a little string of purple beads at her throat, and a 
medium-sized hat of very dark, purple-colored 
322 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



straw, trimmed with an ornament of itself. Her 
slippers and stockings are black.) 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Good-evening. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Good-evening, dear, how are you? 

ALDRID 

Good-evening, Mrs. Hampton. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Oh, good-evening, Mr. Aldrid, I didn't see you. 
I hope you'll both excuse me for coming in with- 
out ringing. 

aldrid {tossing his paper onto the desk) 
Don't mention it. 

mrs. aldrid {standing back of the center-table) 
Saved me the trouble of answering the door; 
it's the girl's day out. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Well, I do hope I haven't intruded. 

MRS. ALDRID 

You haven't at all, dear, really; I've just gotten 
in from town. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

I've been in the city, too; I came out on the 
four-fifty- three. 
aldrid {placing a chair, which he has taken from 
above his desk, about mid-way between the center- 
table and the archway) 
Won't you take a chair, Mrs. Hampton ? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

No, thank you, Mr. Aldrid, I can't stay a mo- 
ment. 

323 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



ALDRID 

I'm sorry. (He moves down to his desk again and 
picks up the paper?) 

MRS. ALDRID 

Why not? 

mrs. hampton (obviously troubled about something) 
Oh, I'm too upset. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Are you ill, dear? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

No, — but — I'd like to ask your advice about 
something. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Well, do sit down for a minute. (Mrs. Hampton 
hesitates, then sits. Mrs. Aldrid takes a chair 
from the back, and, placing it above the center- 
table and slightly to the left of it, sits also. Aldrid 
stands at the lower corner of his desk, reading the 
paper. There is a slight pause) What is it? 
mrs. hampton (speaking directly to Mrs. Aldrid) 
IVe lost some money. (Aldrid lifts his eyes over 
the top of his paper and looks straight out; Mrs. 
Aldrid looks straight into Mrs. Hampton *s eyes 
for a second, then rises quietly, still holding her 
eyes, and moves to the center-table?) 

MRS. ALDRID 

Much? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Quite a bit, yes. 
aldrid (without turning) 

Where did you lose it, Mrs. Hampton? 
mrs. hampton (turning to him) 

I haven't an idea; (Mrs. Aldrid has been looking 

intently at her, but, at this, she shifts her eyes to 
324 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



Aldrid, with a shade of relief.) but I think it was 
in town. (Aldrid turns and glances at his wife, 
but she shifts her eyes back again to Mrs. Hamp- 
ton?} 

ALDRID 

How much was it? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Why — 

MRS. ALDRID (quickly) 

I suppose you don't know the exact amount, do 
you, dear? 

mrs. hampton (turning to her) 

Four hundred dollars. (Aldrid looks at his wife, 
but she's looking blankly at Mrs. Hampton?) 
Isn't that dreadful! Of course, I know it would 
only be an item to some people, — but, to me! 
I feel terrible about it! (She breaks down and 
cries. Aldrid turns and looks at her; then, tossing 
his paper onto the desk, and thrusting his hands 
into his trousers-pockets, he turns and strolls 
towards the back of the room, looking significantly 
at his wife?) 

mrs. aldrid (advancing and placing her hands on 
Mrs. Hampton s arms) 

Now, don't cry, Mrs. Hampton, it isn't that 
bad. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Oh, I think it's dreadful to lose all that money! 

MRS. ALDRID 

I know it is, dear; I don't wonder you feel bad. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Eight fifty-dollar bills! (Mrs. Aldrid is frozen 
into stillness. Aldrid steps forward eagerly from 
the archway, where he has been standing.) 
325 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



ALDRID 

Eight fifties? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Yes. 
aldrid {straightening up, and looking at his wife 
with an ingenuous smile) 
Eight fifties. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

And brand-new ones, too! It's awful! {She be- 
gins crying again.) 

aldrid {to his wife, voicelessly, and indicating Mrs. 
Hampton with a nod) 

Why don't you tell her? {Mrs. Aldrid lifts her 
chin and looks at him icily; whereupon he indicates 
Mrs. Hampton again, with an austere point of his 
finger) 

mrs. aldrid {choosing the better part of valor, and 
leaning over the back of Mrs. Hampton's chair) 
Come now, Mrs. Hampton, you may not have 
lost it at all! {Aldrid, who has been watching his 
wife narrowly, breaks slowly, and goes to his desk, 
where he espies a large scribbled note fastened to 
the desk-light, to attract his attention. Detaching 
this, he sits on the lower corner of his desk and 
reads it.) 

mrs. hampton {tearfully) 
Oh, but I have, Mrs. Aldrid! 

MRS. ALDRID 

I know, my dear, but, you know, sometimes we 
think weVe lost a thing, and we find out later 
that we haven't lost it at all. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

But, I've looked everywhere, and it's lost, I tell 



you! 



326 



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MRS. ALDRID 

But, you may find it again, honey. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Oh, I don't think so! 

MRS. ALDRID 

Or someone else may find it. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

But, that wouldn't do me any good. 

MRS. ALDRID 

It would if the person who found it were honest. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

I'm afraid very few people are honest, if it cost 
them four hundred dollars. {Aldrid finishes 
reading the note, and sits looking out, thinking^) 

MRS. ALDRID 

Well, now, it may be one of those very few who 
has found it. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

I don't expect ever to get it again. 

ALDRID 

Nonsense, Mrs. Hampton! 

MRS. HAMPTON 

I don't. 

ALDRID 

Nonsense! Now, you wait and see. (There is 
a pause: Mrs. Hampton touches her handkerchief 
to her eyes.) 
mrs. aldrid {looking away off) 

Of course, you'll have to advertise. {There is a 
second before Aldrid grasps what she has said; then 
he turns his head sharply and looks at her; but she 
is still looking away of.) 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Yes, that's what I wanted to see Mr. Aldrid 
327 



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about; {She turns to him.) which would be the 
best paper for me to advertise in. {He sits look- 
ing at his wife until she turns and meets his eyes: 
then he abstractedly extends his arm and hand in a 
gesture of interrogation , to which she responds by 
a sudden and taut pressing of her closed hand 
against her breast. He rises, to divert the atten- 
tion of Mrs. Hampton, and, after leaning for a 
second upon the back of his desk-chair, starts 
slowly across the room in front of the center-table. 
As he passes Mrs. Hampton, she rises also.) 
Now, don't let me worry you, Mr. Aldr;d! 

aldrid {abstractedly) 

No, no, it isn't that — I was just — wondering — 

mrs. hampton {turning to Mrs. Aldrid) 

If I'd thought it would bother you folks, I 
shouldn't have told you at all. 

MRS. ALDRID 

That's perfectly all right, dear. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

But I was so troubled when I got home, I simply 
couldn't stay in the house! I just had to come 
out and tell someone! And, my dear, I don't 
know how I'm ever going to tell Frank when he 
comes home tonight; because he said to me this 
morning, when I told him I was going to town — 
he said, "Can I trust you to deposit this money 
for me?" And I said, "What do you think I am, 
a thief?" "Well," he said, "you're always 
losing things!" "Well," I said, "there's no 
danger of my losing four hundred dollars." 
"Well," he said, "I hope not, or we'll get a 
guardian for you!" {Starting to cry again.) 
And then I go straight into the city and lose it! 
328 



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{She cries a little, Mrs. Aldrid stands watching 
her; and Aldrid, who is leaning on his elbow on 
the mantelpiece, over at the left, watches Mrs, Al- 
drid.) And, mind you, to make sure that noth- 
ing would happen to it, I didn't even put it with 
my other money! 
mrs. aldrid {eagerly, but without moving) 
Where did you put it ? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

In one of those little, gold, mesh purses. {Al- 
drid accidentally tears the note-paper which he 
still has in his hand?) 

ALDRID 

Mrs. Hampton! 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Yes? 

ALDRID 

Where did you first miss this money? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

When I was going up the steps into the bank. 

ALDRID 

Which bank? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

The Franklin National. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Where's that? 

ALDRID 

Broad and Chestnut. Where had you been be- 
fore that? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Why, when I came out of the station, — after 
I got off the train, — 

ALDRID 

Yes? 

329 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



MRS. HAMPTON 

I went over to Wanamaker's — to get some 
gloves. (Aldrid looks at her keenly?) 

MRS. ALDRID 

Wanamaker's? 

mrs. hampton (turning to her) 

Yes. (Mrs. Aldrid gives a significant look at 
Aldrid \ but he is looking at Mrs. Hampton.) 
But they didn't have my size in what I wanted 
at Wanamaker's, so I crossed over to Blum's. 

aldrid (quietly) 

Blum's glove-counter? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Yes. (Aldrid glances at his wife, but she is 
coughing into her handkerchief . He moves rather 
thoughtfully to the left of the center-table ', and, 
picking up a book, stands it on its end on the 
table and leans upon it. Mrs. Hampton is stand- 
ing on the opposite side of the table, and Mrs. Al- 
drid has moved quietly down to a point in front of 
Aldrid 's desk.) 

ALDRID 

You hadn't missed this money up to that time? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

No, and I'm quite sure I had it up to that time; 
because I hadn't opened my pocketbook from 
the time I left the house; and the money was in 
the big pocketbook. 

ALDRID 

I see; and you went directly from there to the 
bank? 



MRS. HAMPTON 

Yes, directly. 

330 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



ALDRID 

Then you think it was somewhere between 
Blum's glove-counter and the bank steps that 
you lost it? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

It must have been: I imagine I must have 
pulled it out without knowing it, when I was 
paying for the gloves at Blum's. 

ALDRID 

Very likely. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Or else, possibly, someone opened my pocket- 
book and took out the little purse {turning to 
Mrs. Aldrid) when I wasn't looking. {She be- 
gins to cry again , as she turns back to Mr. Aldrid.) 
You know they do that, Mr. Aldrid. 

aldrid {abstractedly) 
Yes, I know they do. 

mrs. aldrid {standing at the rights quietly toying 
with her beads , and looking straight ahead, with a 
calculating expression) 

There wasn't a card or a paper of any kind in 
the purse, was there? 

mrs. hampton {turning to her) 

No, there wasn't a thing in it but the money. 

MRS. ALDRID 

That's too bad: {Aldrid watches her narrowly?) 
no initials on it? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

No, I've always been going to have my initials 
put on it, but, — Oh, I don't know, — I never 
seemed to get round to it. 

MRS. ALDRID 

That makes it bad. 

33i 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



mrs. hampton {with the threat of a few more tears) 
Dear me, I wish I had, now. 

mrs. aldrid {turning to her suddenly ', with a kind of 
forced sincerity) 

Yes, because if someone find it, and answer 
your advertisement, he'll naturally expect you 
to be able to identify it — definitely; that is, be- 
fore you could reasonably expect him to return 
it to you, I mean. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Yes, I suppose he would; but, then, I could de- 
scribe the purse and the money. 
mrs. aldrid {with a tolerant smile) 

I know, my dear; but there may be a million 
purses exactly like it — 

MRS. HAMPTON 

That's true, too. 

MRS. ALDRID 

And, as far as the money is concerned, why, — 
money is simply money; unless it's marked; 
and this isn't, {checking herself) as you say. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

No, it isn't. 

MRS. ALDRID 

So that, really, a person would be more or less 
obliged to take your word for it, wouldn't he? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

I'm afraid he would. 

MRS. ALDRID 

And that's rather a lot for us to expect of people, 
isn't it, dear? 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Too much, I'm afraid. 
332 



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MRS. ALDRID 

Especially, when there's four hundred dollars 
in the bargain. (She gives a little mirthless , self- 
conscious laugh, and settles the lace on Mrs. 
Hampton's lap elle. Aldrid y who has been watch- 
ing her steadily ^ turns his head away slowly , and 
his eyes wander about the floor.) 
mrs. hampton (turning to the chair from which 
she arose) 

You're right, it is rather a poor prospect. (Sits 
down.) 

MRS. ALDRID 

Oh, well— 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Unless someone who is really honest find it. 

mrs. aldrid (looking curiously at one of the beads in 
her necklace) 

Of course, the only thing you can do is to adver- 
tise. 

mrs. hampton (rising) 

Yes, I must, right away. (Moving to the right 
of the center-table.) Which paper do you think 
it would be best for me to advertise in, Mr. Al- 
drid? (He doesn't hear her.) Mr. Aldrid? 

aldrid (turning to her suddenly) 

I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hampton, what did — 

MRS. ALDRID 

She wants to know which paper you think it 
would be best for her to advertise in? 

aldrid (directly to his wife) 

None of them — (To Mrs. Hampton, with a 
change of tone) until she hear from me. 

mrs. aldrid (quickly, and laying her hands on Mrs. 
Hampton's shoulder and arm) 
333 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



He means, he'll look up the circulations later. 
{Aldrid looks at her for a rather long pause, but 
she avoids his eyes; then, as Mrs, Hampton turns 
and looks at him, he speaks.) 

ALDRID 

I'll telephone you after dinner, Mrs. Hampton. 
{He starts towards the back of the room.) 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Well, that's very charming of you, Mr. Aldrid. 

ALDRID 

Don't mention it. {He passes out through the 
window into the garden; then stops abruptly, 
makes a taut, general movement of desperate ir- 
resolution, turns, and steps back in through the 
window again; where, gripping the draperies in 
his hands, he stands watching his wife with an 
expression of stony suspicion.) 

mrs. hampton {to Mrs. Aldrid) 

And I really feel that I owe you both a genuine 
apology for bothering you with my troubles. 
{Starting for the archway at the right.) 

mrs. aldrid {turning, and following her) 
That's what neighbors are for, dear. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Good-bye, Mr. Aldrid. 
aldrid {coming a step or two out of the window- 
alcove) 
Good-bye, Mrs. Hampton. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

I'll be waiting to hear from you. 
aldrid 

Right away, I'll call you. 
334 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



mrs. hampton (turning at the archway) 

And, be sure and ask for me, when you telephone, 
won't you? 

ALDRID 

Yes, I shall. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

Thank you very much. 

ALDRID 

You re very welcome. 
mrs. hampton {going out into the hallway at the 
rights followed by Mrs. Aldrid, who has been stand- 
ing at the back of the room, just to the left of the 
archway. 

I don't want Frank to know anything about this, 
if possible. 

MRS. ALDRID 

No, there's no need of annoying him. 

MRS. HAMPTON 

I suppose he'll have to be told soon enough. 
{Aldrid, standing at the back of the room, watches 
his wife out into the hallway; then he turns 
sharply, and comes forward several steps, in 
a panic of indecision. Suddenly the impulse 
to recall Mrs. Hampton whirls him round into a 
literal spring in the direction of the hallway, bul^ 
at this point, the definite closing of the front door 
arrests him, and he stands taut and still for a sec- 
ond, gripping the back of the chair which Mrs. 
Aldrid occupied earlier in the action of the play. 
Then he shifts his position; and, gripping the 
chair with the other hand, leans upon it, and waits 
for his wife to come back from the door. Presently 
she darts into view between the archway portieres, 
and stands regarding him with an expression of 
335 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



amused calculation. But he doesnt see her: so, 
after a glance over her shoulder into the hallway, 
she speaks?) 

MRS. ALDRID 

Did you see that? 
aldrid {in a repressed, ominous tone) 

What? 
mrs. aldrid [with a nod toward the hallway) 

She must have heard. 

ALDRID 

Have you told anybody? 
mrs. aldrid [coming a little farther into the room) 

No! 

ALDRID 

I suppose the walls have ears? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Not necessarily. 
aldrid [turning to her sharply and searching her 
with a look) 
Then, how would she know? 

MRS. ALDRID 

She must have heard me — there in the hallway! 
aldrid [mercilessly) 

When? 
mrs. aldrid [becoming slightly disconcerted under 

his gaze) 

A few minutes ago — when I was telling you I'd 

found a purse. 
aldrid [after a fractional pause, and tilting his 

head a bit on one side, to look at her more quizzic- 
ally) 

How would she overhear you — she wasn't in the 

hallway? 

336 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



MRS. ALDRID 

Wasn't she! 

aldrid (whipping the chair upon which he is lean- 
ing out the way ', and coming forward in a trem- 
bling rage) 

You know very well she wasn't! {She crosses 
the back of the room towards the left, watching 
him. He stops in the middle of the room and for- 
ward, and continues speaking, but without looking 
at her.) What are you trying to do, kid your- 
self, or me! (He goes towards his desk at the 
right, and she comes forward at the left.) 

mrs. aldrid (picking up her apron from the sofa) 
I suppose you didn't take notice of the fact that 
she came in without ringing, did you? 

ALDRID 

Well, what of it, what of it, what of it! 

mrs. aldrid (taking his tone) 

Nothing! Only just think it over while I'm get- 
ting your dinner! (She starts towards the door 
at the left.) 

aldrid (leaning on the back of his desk-chair) 
You needn't get me any dinner. (She stops and 
looks back at him.) 

MRS. ALDRID 

Why not? 

ALDRID 

Because I don't want any. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Don't you want anything at all? 
aldrid (turning sharply, and looking at her) 

Yes! (Starting across towards the back of the 
center-table, and indicating the departed Mrs. 
Hampton with a wide gestured) I want to know 
337 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



whether or not you intend to return that wo- 
man's property? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Her property? 

aldrid {enraged, and lifting his voice) 
You heard me! 

mrs. aldrid (lifting her hand to silence him) 
Sh— sh! 

aldrid {disregarding her gesture) 
I want an answer, yes or no! 

mrs. aldrid {flinging her apron back onto the sofa, 
and stepping up very close to him) 
What's the matter with you, Gene, are you 
blind? 

aldrid {stonily) 

Not now; but I'm beginning to think I have 
been — terribly blind. 

mrs. aldrid {turning away from him, and taking a 
couple of steps to the left) 

Well, I'm glad something has happened to open 
your eyes. {She feigns to be occupied with her 
right cuff. He crosses to her rigidly, and, seizing 
her by the arm, turns her sharply to him and hoks 
knowingly into her eyes?} 

aldrid {after a pause) 

If my eyes are not opened after this, it isn't 
your fault. {She attempts to move, but he pins 
her to his side with another quick grip. She shows 
a trace of fright.) I want to know whether or not 
you intend to return that money? 

mrs. aldrid (with a mingling of fright and con- 
ciliation) 
When I find the owner, yes! 

338 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



aldrid {breaking from her in a wrath, and going 

towards the back of the room) 

Ah! more hedging! 

Speaking together — 
aldrid {turning at the back of the room, and coming 

forward again) 

God! how I hate that attitude! 
mrs. aldrid {holding her right upperarm as though 

he had hurt her) 

I'd like to hand over four hundred dollars to 

every Tom, Dick, and Harry that says he lost 

it. You must think I'm a — 
aldrid {whirling fiercely upon her, as he passes in 

front of the center-table) 

Please! {She is instantly silenced.) Don't drive 

me out of the house! {He goes blindly up 

towards the hallway.) 
mrs. aldrid {regaining herself, and half crying) 

What do you think I am — some school-girl! 
aldrid {stopping abruptly just inside the archway) 

No! {Turning to her.) I think you're a thief! 
mrs. aldrid {freezing with resentment) 

Do you, really? 

ALDRID 

More contemptible than the out-and-outer, for 
he at least doesn't try to justify himself. 

MRS. ALDRID 

And I'm not trying to justify myself either. 

ALDRID 

You couldn't! There is no justification for 
your attitude. 

MRS. ALDRID 

There doesn't need to be any. 
339 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



ALDRID 

And there isn't — among honest people! 

mrs. aldrid (sarcastically) 

So you don't consider me honest? 

aldrid (moving a little nearer to her) 

You're like a million other people in this world, 
honest, as long as you don't lose anything by it; 
but as soon as you see where the principle of 
honesty is going to cost you a dollar, you begin 
to hedge! — just as you've been doing in this. 

MRS. ALDRID 

I've been doing nothing of the kind! 
aldrid (bitterly) 

You've been tinkering with honesty. 
mrs. aldrid (advancing a step or two towards him) 

I never took a cent in my life that didn't belong 

to me! 

ALDRID 

There are rafts of people can say that. But 
they wouldn't walk back a block to return ten 
cents overchange that some clerk has given 
them. (She sniffs contemptuously, and turns 
away?} Pat themselves on the back, as I've 
heard you do, — when the conductor on the 
trolley doesn't ask them for their carfare! 
(Swings down towards his desk.) 

MRS. ALDRID 

The trolley companies have enough! 

ALDRID 

There you are! (Turning to her.) That's the 
psychology of a thief! (He goes up to the 
French window at the back of the room, and, after 
glancing out to see that no one has heard them, 
closes it.) 

340 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



mrs. aldrid (ready to cry with madness) 

Have I ever stolen anything from you? (Evi- 
dently, he doesn't hear her, and starts back down 
towards the right of the center-table. She advances 
a bit towards him.) Have I? 

aldrid (stopping on a line with her, and looking at 
her witheringly) 

Now, don't start that, please. (He continues 
on down to the right of the center-table, and stands, 
leaning upon it.) 

mrs. aldrid (stepping to the left of the center-table, 
and striking her fist upon it) 
Answer me! Have I ever stolen anything from 
you? (There is a slight pause; then he sits down 
on the edge of the table — very weariedly — as 
though weighted with the conviction of having mar- 
ried an inferior woman.) 

aldrid (with a complete change of tone) 

Listen to me! (He takes his left hand in his 
right, and looks at the back of it, with a kind of 
vacant curiosity; then he drops his clasped hands 
onto his leg and looks up and out and away of.) 
A man's home, in the majority of cases, is 
founded upon his belief in the honesty of his 
wife; you've stolen that from me to-night. 

MRS. ALDRID 

What? 

ALDRID 

That belief — that I had in you, as an honest 
woman. (With an impatient toss of her head, 
she crosses over in front of the table to the desk, and 
straightens the desk-pad; then stands with her back 
to him, with one hand resting on the back of the 
desk-chair, and the other on her hip.) You 
34i 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



know, there's a line in a book somewhere that 
says: 

"What a little thing makes the world go wrong! 
A word too short, or a smile too long: 
Then comes the mist, and the blinding rain, 
And life is never the same again." 

Your — {He feels for the word?) attitude — in this 
affair to-night is that mist and blinding rain: 
it has shown me that my wife is not strictly hon- 
est — for the sake of being so; and honesty is 
such a passion with me that, as far as you are 
concerned, life will never be the same again; 
because I could never — absolutely trust you 
again. (He rises slowly ', and moves around in 
front of the table?) Never. (He continues to the 
window at the back, then stops and turns to her.) 
I'm very sorry we found that out — (He steps 
into the window-alcove and quietly pushes the 
window open; then, after glancing out, he leans 
against the side of the window-alcove and says, 
half to himself and half to her — ) I'm sorrier — 
than if I had lost a million dollars. (There is a 
rather long stillness; then Mrs. Aldrid, who has 
been finding it difficult to encompass the situation, 
abandons the effort and crosses the room towards 
the door at the left?) 

mrs. aldrid (as she turns and starts across the room) 
Well, Gene, if you hadn't been so strictly honest 
all your life, we might have had a million dollars 
now. 

aldrid (picking her up) 

Very true; but we'd have gotten it the way you 
are getting that four hundred. 
342 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



mrs. aldrid {about to leave the room, and with a re- 
turn to her former manner) 
And the way I'm going to hold on to it, inci- 
dentally. {She starts to go out at the left.) 

aldrid {in a sudden rage, and seizing the telephone 
at his right) 

All right! Listen to this! Wait! {She stops, 
and turns to him.) I want you to hear this! 
{He works the telephone hook violently.) Give 
me Wayne one — three seven — D. — Wayne. 
Please? {She recognizes the number, evidently, 
and takes a couple of frantic steps towards him; 
but he meets her startled expression with a look of 
quiet defiance, so she stops dead and turns away, 
waiting^ Hello! Hello? {He lowers the tele- 
phone again, and there is another pause: then, 
suddenly, he is answered?) Hello ! — Mrs. Hamp- 
ton? — Is this Mrs. Hampton? — Mr. Aldrid. 
{Mrs. Aldrid turns, and their eyes meet?) I have 
some very good news for you. 

mrs. aldrid {advancing in a panic) 

If you tell her I found that money, I'll deny it! 

aldrid {into the telephone, and bitterly) 
Your money has been found! 

mrs. aldrid {raising her arms and hands helplessly, 
and turning to the center-table) 
Oh, you silly fool! 

aldrid {into the telephone) 
I found it. 

mrs. aldrid {looking frantically among her parcels 
on the center-table) 
Well, if you did, you'll pay it! 

aldrid {into the telephone, and half smiling) 
I wanted to give you a lesson. 
343 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



MRS. ALDRID 

For I'm very sure I won't! {Glancing under 
the center-tabled) Where's my pocketbook? 
(Hurries over to the desk and looks.) 

aldrid (into the telephone) 

I know, but I imagine you must be rather care- 
less to drop that much money. 

mrs. aldrid (hurrying back to the table, and be- 
coming more excited every minute) 
Where's my pocketbook? 

aldrid (into the telephone) 

All right, Mrs. Hampton, come ahead — it's here 
for you. (Hangs up, and sets down the telephoned) 

mrs. aldrid (turning to him excitedly) 

Listen! Have you seen anything of my pocket- 
book? 

aldrid 
No. 

mrs. aldrid (looking among her parcels again, 
breathlessly) 
I can't find it! 

ALDRID 

Where'd you have it? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Right here among these parcels! 
aldrid (disinterestedly) 

I haven't seen anything of it. (He comes down 
to his desk.) 

MRS. ALDRID 

My God ! I wonder if I've lost that ! (She looks 
again for a second, then stops dead and taps the 
table as though she has suddenly come to a con- 
clusion.) I wonder if she could have taken 
that — 

344 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



aldrid (turning to her) 
Who? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Mrs. Hampton. 

ALDRID 

I'll ask her that — when she comes over. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Don't you dare! 
aldrid (bitterly) 

Hum-hum. (He shakes his head from side to 
side.) 

MRS. ALDRID 

Well, it's gone! 

ALDRID 

Maybe you left it in the trolley-car. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Oh, wouldn't that be awful! — And that four 
hundred dollars is in it ! (Aldrid gives a short, 
dry sound of amusement, and, thrusting his hands 
into his trousers-pockets, starts across the room 
towards the left.) I don't see anything to laugh 
at! (He throws his head back and makes another 
little sound of intensely derisive laughter.) And 
twenty-six dollars of my own! (He laughs 
again.) God! what's the matter with me? 
aldrid (turning in front of the sofa) 

Maybe you dropped it out there in the hallway. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Call up the Rapid Transit "Lost and Found," 
and see if a lady's pocketbook has been turned 
in. I'll look out here. (She vanishes into the 
hallway at the right. Aldrid stands still for a sec- 
ond, then picks up the telephone.) 
345 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



aldrid {into the telephone) 

Information, please. (To Mrs. Aldrid) Do you 

see anything of it? 
mrs. aldrid {in the hallway) 

Not a sign! 

ALDRID 

Why don't you light that light? (He stands 
looking into the hallway until a light is turned on: 
then into the telephone) Hello? Information? 
What is the number of the Rapid Transit "Lost 
and Found ?" Yes. Kensington one three — 
hundred? Will you ask the operator to ring it, 
please? If you please? (He lowers the telephone ; 
and Mrs. Aldrid appears at the entrance to the 
hallway , searching frantically. Aldrid laughs 
dryly?) 

mrs. aldrid (glancing up) 

Funny, isn't it! (She disappears again into the 
hallway ', and immediately there is the sound of a 
chair being knocked over, as though she had flung 
it aside in her anger. Aldrid looks sharply 
toward the hallway, then shakes his head slowly 
and conclusively}) 

aldrid (shifting his attitude, and sighing rather 
wearily) 

Ha, ho-ho — (Into the telephone) Hello? Infor- 
mation? (Glances toward the hallway?) Oh, 
this is "Lost and Found?" I'd like to know 
whether or not a lady's pocketbook has been 
turned in there this evening? 

mrs. aldrid (rushing in from the hallway) 

Oh, it isn't out there! What do they say? (He 
silences her with a gesture; then, after a slight 
pause, speaks suddenly into the telephone again?) 
346 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



ALDRID 

This minute? 

MRS. ALDRID 

It has been turned in? 
aldrid (to her) 

Yes. 
mrs. aldrid (turning and sinking onto the chair at 

her hand) 

Oh, thank God! 
aldrid (into the telephone, 

No, my wife did. 
mrs. aldrid (turning to him) 

A regular, lady's, black-leather pocketbook! 
aldrid (into the telephone) 

Well, can you wait a minute ? Please ? ( To Mrs. 

Aldrid) They want to know whether or not you 

can identify this? 
mrs. aldrid (impatiently) 

Oh, certainly I can! It's a regular, lady's black- 
leather pocketbook, with my initials E. A. on 

the outside! 

ALDRID 

Yes. 

mrs. aldrid (illustrating with her hands) 

There's a small, gold-mesh purse inside, with 
four hundred dollars in it; and, in the side 
pocket, there are twenty-six dollars. Then, 
there's — 

aldrid (to Mrs. Aldrid) 

Wait a minute. (Into the telephone) Hello ! 

MRS. ALDRID 

A gold, mesh purse, with — 
aldrid (to Mrs. Aldrid) 

Wait a minute! (Into the telephone) A lady's 
347 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



black, leather pocketbook, with the initials, 
E. A., on the outside. There's a gold — E. A. 
No, no, no, no! E! — Yes. — Well, that's right. 
Why — {He looks at his wife.) 

MRS. ALDRID 

A gold, mesh purse — 
aldrid {into the telephone) 

A gold, mesh purse, with four hundred dollars 
in it; and in the side pocket there are twenty- 
six dollars — of her own. {Mrs. Aldrid looks at 
him suddenly?) 

MRS. ALDRID 

Five fives and a one. 

aldrid {into the telephone) 

In bills, yes. {He looks at her y and she nods con- 
firmation.) Five fives and a one. One minute. 
{To his wife) What else? — quick! 

mrs. aldrid {becoming very nervous) 
Why, there's a silver vanity case — 

aldrid 
Yes. 

MRS. ALDRID 

And a gold bracelet— with the clasp broken — 
{He makes a movement of interruption, but she 
continues) and a tax receipt, and a — 
Aldrid and Mrs. Aldrid, speaking together — 
aldrid {to Mrs. Aldrid) 

Wait a minute, now, till I get that! {Into the 
telephone) Hello? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Sample of Georgette Crepe, and a face veil, and 
a handkerchief, and two packages of hairpins, 
and — 

348 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



aldrid (to Mrs. Aldrid) 

I can't remember all those! (She stops, and re- 
laxes; then he speaks into the telephone) Hello! 
There's a silver vanity case and a bracelet — 

MRS. ALDRID 

Broken ! 

aldrid (into the telephone} 

Broken! — A broken bracelet. (JVith a touch of 
annoyance.) The bracelet is broken. Yes. 
And there's a — (He stops gradually and listens 
attentively — his eyes wandering to his wife's.) 
I see. 

mrs. aldrid (rising slowly and apprehensively) 
What is it? 

aldrid (silencing her with a deft gesture, and con- 
tinuing into the telephone) 
Why, yes, that is rather funny. 

mrs. aldrid (impatiently) 
What does he say? 

aldrid (into the telephone) 

How about tomorrow afternoon? No, no, I'll 
call for it myself. Well, if you will, please? 
Tha — nk you, very much. Thanks. (He sets 
the telephone down.) 

MRS. ALDRID 

Is everything all right? 

ALDRID 

Yes. 
mrs. aldrid (sighing with relief, and leaning upon 

the center-table) 

Oh! — can you imagine if I'd lost that! 
aldrid (coming down thoughtfully towards his 

desk) 

Everything but the money. 
349 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



mrs. aldrid {turning and looking at him) 

What'd you say? 
aldrid (without meeting her eye) 

He says that, evidently, the person who found 

your pocketbook took all the money out of it 

before turning it in. 
mrs. aldrid (aghast) 

What! 
aldrid (indifferently , and turning to his desk) 

That's what he says. 
mrs. aldrid (morally and physically indignant) 

Can you imagine anybody being that con- 
temptible? 
aldrid (turning and going up to the archway) 

Please don't make me laugh — I'm not in the 

mood. 
MRS. aldrid 

You won't laugh when you have to pay that 

woman four hundred dollars out of your own 

pocket! 
aldrid (turning to her sharply) 

I'd have had to do that anyway! — there didn't 

seem to be very much chance of getting it away 

from you! 

MRS. ALDRID 

Well, you're not going to give her four hundred 
dollars of your own money? 

ALDRID 

That'll do! And, when she comes here, don't 
make it necessary for me to tell her who found 
her money. Now, be wise. (He looks out the 
hallway, starts slightly, then steps quickly towards 
his desk.) Where is that gold, mesh purse of 



yours ? 



35° 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



MRS. ALDRID 

There in that drawer — what are you going to do ? 

aldrid {speaking directly to her in a level tone) 
I'm going to give you a lesson in honesty. Where 
is it? (Opens the middle drawer of his desk.) 

MRS. ALDRID 

Right where you're looking: what do you want 
it for? 

aldrid {whipping a little gold, mesh purse out of the 
drawer) 
Never mind! Is this it? 

MRS. ALDRID 

Yes; what are you going to do? {He slams the 
drawer shut, and, simultaneously , there is a sharp 
ring at the front door. He lays his hand on Mrs. 
Aldrid 's arm, and they stand still for a second) 

ALDRID 

There she is. {Then turning and urging Mrs. 
Aldrid across in front of the center -table towards 
the door at the left.) Go up to my money-box 
and get me eight fifty-dollar bills — the newest 
you can find; and, hurry! {He starts back 
towards the archway.) 

mrs. aldrid (recovering herself) 
I'll do nothing of the kind! 

aldrid (whirling upon her, and indicating the left 
door with an imperative gesture) 
Quick! Now, youVe lost enough tonight, I 
think! 

mrs. aldrid (turns and goes to the left door, then 
stops again, defiantly) 
I will not! 

351 



FINDERS-KEEPERS 



ALDRID 

Very well, then; I shall be obliged to tell this 
woman the particulars. 
mrs. aldrid (bitterly) 

Oh, I'll get them! But I never knew, Gene, 
that you were such a fool! {She starts to leave 
the room.) 

ALDRID 

Wait! {She stops and looks at him.) Wait a 
minute. {He starts across towards her, passing 
back of the center-table.) I'll get them myself. 

MRS. ALDRID 

Why can't I get them? 
aldrid {looking at her steadily as he passes above 
her and out the door) 

Because I'd rather get them myself. {She 
stands very still, realizing the implication, until 
the doorbell has rung three times; then with a 
rather slow, general gesture of sullenness and 
defeat, she moves up and across towards the arch- 
way to answer the door?) 

THE CURTAIN DESCENDS SLOWLY 



352 



SOLOMON'S SONG 

A PASTORAL TRAGI-COMEDY IN ONE ACT 

by Harry Kemp 



CHARACTERS 

Shamgazar Abishag 

MlLCAH ABIATHAR 

Solomon 



Copyright, 192 1, by HARRY KEMP 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Applications for permission to produce Solomon's Song should be 
addressed to Harry Kemp, in care of Brentano's, 225 Fifth Ave., 
New York City. No performance may be given without his consent. 



SOLOMON'S SONG 

Time: The most flourishing period of Solomon's 
rule: about iooo b. c. 

scene 

The Throne-Room of Solomon s royal palace, built 
in that quarter of Ancient Jerusalem called Millo. 
The Throne-Room is a vast affair. The walls, 
from the floor to the ceiling, are covered with cedar 
wood and adorned with gold fretwork. 
In the center stands Solomon s world-celebrated 
throne, of massive ivory, overlaid with gold. It is 
elevated on a platform, and a bronze lion stands 
on each side of it. An ascent of six steps leads up 
to it, and on each side of each step stands a bronze 
lion. They face toward the front, twelve in all, 
symbolizing the twelve tribes of Israel over which 
Solomon holds sway. 

In the back, at the center, is an open balcony, giv- 
ing on a garden of trees beneath. The tops of the 
trees come up to the edge of the balcony. 
Enter Abishag. She is a young and slender, 
brown-bodied girl. She is dressed in simple shep- 
herd costume, which consists of a skirt to the knees. 
Her legs and arms are bare. She has an agile 
girlish beauty that belongs to open fields and free 
hilltops. Stepping slowly and carefully about, 
she follows the contour of the room, with outspread 
355 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



palms against the walls, like one seeking escape. 
Her anklets and armlets make a tinkling sound. 
Coming on the balcony ', in the back, she looks out, 
as if about to leap into the near tops of the trees. 
But, in all her movements, she has been stealthily 
followed, by the Chief Eunuch, Shamgazar, who 
now, coming close to her, clutches her by the right 
arm and slowly swings her back to the center of the 
room. Abishag is brought to a kneeling position; 
she pulls away from Shamgazar. 

SHAMGAZAR 

Amend thy folly, girl! There is no maiden 
From the Euphrates to the river Nile 
But sorrows for the lack of what is thine, 
Yearns all her girlhood for the thing thou hast — 
The love of Solomon ! 

ABISHAG 

I sought it not! 
Let him have many maidens, yea, as many 
As almond blossoms putting forth in Spring, 
So that he come not nigh me with his arms, 
Nor touch me with the lips of his desire! 
shamgazar {impressively) 

Abishag, he is ruler of the world! 

ABISHAG 

Good — so he be not ruler of my heart! (She 
turns and looks out into garden.) 

SHAMGAZAR 

Ten thousand bearded men guard Solomon; 

About his palace wait ten thousand men 

With shield and sword. Then, who can bring 

thee help? 
Be wise; accept the great king's love. 
3tf 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



{Dropping down disconsolately, A bis hag seats 
herself on the first step of the throne. A pause. 
Then, the words inaudible, a song is heard with- 
out) 

ABISHAG 

I am 

Abiathar's, and his alone, Shamgazar! 

{Softer.) 

That song — how could I hear it and say else? 

SHAMGAZAR 

'Tis Solomon's song of one and perfect love. 

ABISHAG 

It is the song we sang among the hills, 
Tending our sheep. . . . 

SHAMGAZAR 

The world is singing it 
From Tyre to Elath. 

ABISHAG 

'Twas our one hearts' song 
At even, when the sheep were folded safe. 

SHAMGAZAR 

Put by all dreams of shepherds and green 

hills 

A thousand towns and cities walled with stone 
Have sent the whitest of their maidens hither, 
And from the flower of these hast thou been 

chosen, 
The one bud to break into bloom for him. . . . 
But wherefore trouble I my heart with thee? 
Thou art a maiden, and thou dost but fear 
What thou hast never known. {Clapping his 

hands.) Come hither, Milcah! 
357 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



{Enter Milcah, who is to be handmaid to Abishag. 
Milcah is tall. She is paler than Abishag, with 
the pallor that comes from living an indoor life, 
in the palace. She is dressed elaborately after the 
Egyptian fashion, the style having been set by the 
Egyptian Princess, daughter of King Psusennes, 
for whom, a year previously, Solomon built a great 
house, for her own private use, after her marriage 
to him.) 

SHAMGAZAR (to MUcaK) 

Attend the Queen ! (Shamgazar goes out.) 
milcah (rushing up to Abishag and embracing her) 

Abishag! Thou! 
abishag [returning the embrace) 

As my soul liveth, Milcah of the Plains! 

What dost thou here? 

MILCAH 

I am handmaid to the King. . . . (Lower?) 
And hast thou thanked Jehovah yet? 

ABISHAG 

I pray, 

With every thought, for my deliverance. 
milcah (astonished) 

For thy deliverance! Art thou not glad? 
abishag (dumfounded) 

Glad, Milcah? 
milcah (reprovingly) 

Yea, that thou art chosen queen 

To sit by Solomon on a throne of gold! . . . 

Why, I, who was his but a day, rejoice! 
abishag (smiling confidently) 

Didst know Abiathar? 

358 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



milcah {surprised) 

That tall, ill-favored shepherd lad? 
abishag {severely) 

The same — but comely as the tents of Kedar 

MILCAH 

Thou lovedst him — but yet — 
abishag {fervently) 

I'll have none other. 
milcah {looking about her, with a frightened air) 

If thou wouldst live 

Then hold thy peace, lest thou be overheard. 

ABISHAG 

Nay, I'll speak out, ev'n if my words bring 
death. 

MILCAH 

Doubt not but thou shalt die, thwarting the 

King. 
But be to him the thing that he desires 
And he will make thy pathways delicate 
And all thy goings-out and comings-in 
As soft as wool. . . . Music will wait upon thee 
Of divers instruments, and all the world 
Will bow before thee. . . . Tyre will bring thee 

purple; 
All Egypt will be raiment unto thee; 
Ivory and apes and gold will come by ships, 
Crowding the sea with white like cloud on cloud, 
While peacocks draw their fans down jacinth 

courts 
And make a sound like wind among blown 

leaves. . . . 
abishag {vehemently angry) 

Milcah, thou speakest with an harlot's tongue. 
Go from me; I command thee, being Queen. 
359 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



{Milcah goes out. Solomon s Song again comes 
from the garden under the balcony. But now a 
man's voice sings.) 

I saw one star grow in the sky, 

I bent in worship to its light — 
Then star on star, and star on star 

Drew here and there my sight; 

The moon rose — to the moon I bowed; 

In its great light the stars were gone — 
The moon, that, graying to a ghost, 

Went out before the sun. . . . 

Women are many, thou, but one — 
The lights of heaven are but three, 

The stars, the moon, and then — the sun! . . . 
O Love, make day for me ! 

{The singing ceases.) 

abishag {recognizing Abiathar s voice, and leaning 

over) 

Abiathar! 
abiathar {faintly, from below) 

Abishag! 

{Abiathar is seen climbing in the very top of 
a tree near the edge of the veranda. Abishag 
reaches out her hand and helps him in. Abiathar 
holds her at arm's length, fondly gazing at her. 
Then they embrace?) 

ABISHAG 

How earnest thou 
Through all those eyes and spears that hedge 

with death 
The gates and gardens of King Solomon ? 
360 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



abiathar {laughing boldly) 

Simple the deed was as the words that tell: 
When the bright moon swam forth, I hid, and 

when 
It hid, I ran, and slid from tree to tree, 
From shade to shadow, climbing guarded walls, 
Unseen, until, by chance, I heard your voice — 
And then I sang! 

ABISHAG 

'Tis strange that thou alone 
Couldst do so great a deed. . . . And didst thou 

fear not, 
Singing? 
abiathar {quickly) 

There is no hope for us but death ! 

ABISHAG 

The prophets say that God is merciful. 

ABIATHAR 

The king, I think, is not. 

ABISHAG 

He has concubines, 

And seven hundred wives. 

ABIATHAR 

Yet the new gift 
Is ever prized the most — till others come. 

{Trumpets without; cries of "The King," "King 
Solomon.") 

abiathar {showing dagger) 
Now death must take 
Another, beside us! 

ABISHAG 

Thou slay the King! 

361 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



ABIATHAR 

Aye, even Solomon, that mighty king. . . . 

And wherefore not? What pity hath he for 
thee, 

Or me, thy lover? 
herald {approaching from without) 

Make way for Solomon ! 
abishag (hurriedly) 

Convey thee hence behind yon throne and hide 
thee; 

Then, after I have sought the uttermost — 
abiathar {embracing her) 

— The dagger! 

{Going.) 

I will slay him with one thrust! 
herald {entering, crosses stage in stately and pomp- 
ous fashion, as he chants:) 

Make way for Solomon, that mighty king! 

Wiser than Ethan, the famed Ezrahite, 

Than Heman, Chalcol, and the sons of Mahol, 

Is Solomon, the Chosen of the Lord. . . . 

Hath he not made of songs a thousand and five? 

Hath he not spoken proverbs twice a thousand? 

{Abishag seats herself on lower step to throne and 

waits. Herald chants as he disappears:) 

Make way for Solomon! Make way for Solo- 
mon! 

{Trumpets are heard again. A momentary si- 
lence. Solomon appears. He is a tall, rather 
stout man. He wears a turban, starry with jewels. 
It is green. He has flashing black eyes and a 
black beard. When he smiles his teeth flash white. 
He walks as if with a sense of his own greatness 
362 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



and magnificence ', with his arms folded. Yet his 
smile shows that, in spite of his unlimited power, 
he is, when he wills, whimsically human.) 

solomon {standing over A bis hag, and looking down 
at her) 
Abishag, lovest thou me? 

ABISHAG {looking Up) 

I love thee not, nor will I bide thy wish. 

SOLOMON 

Others have vowed the same, nor kept that 
vow. 
abishag {with slow determination) 

I have not vowed. I have no need of vows 
To keep me from the thing I hate. 

{Solomon ascends throne and sits down on it, rest- 
ing his chin on his hand. From this position he 
studies Abishag, who remains seated on the lower 
step of the ascent?) 

SOLOMON 

Thou hast 
Another lover? 

ABISHAG 

Nay, I know but one. 
solomon {leaning down, seriously) 

One more, Abishag, than I've ever known! 
abishag {looking up into his face with sudden 

vivacity. She is curious and would hear further) 

Nay, but the great King points a jest at me? 

SOLOMON 

Would it were so. Yet could I somewhere find 
That love's perfection I have ever sought, 
And never won, my seven hundred wives 
3^3 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



Would I return to their far tribes again, 

On seven hundred camels, royally. 

{Softly.) 

Abishag, hast thou ever heard my song, 

"O Love, Make Day For Me?" 

ABISHAG 

All but the deaf have heard it, mighty king: 

solomon {sadly dreaming) 

Yea, lovers sing it underneath the moon, 

And in the latticed twilight it is sung, 

Charming the evening air all hushed and still; 

It is the world's one word of happy love, 

The love which, hapless, I have never known. 

{Sighing.) 

A dream I shaped from a far dream's desire ! 

abishag {searching his thought) 

But thou hast gold from Ophir, and the wealth 
Of twenty kingdoms ready at thy wish! 

SOLOMON 

But who has bought love since the world began? 

ABISHAG 

Yet, after God, thou hast the highest place. 

SOLOMON 

So 'tis the power I wear, not I, is loved. 

ABISHAG 

God gave thee wisdom passing all the world. 

SOLOMON 

Women love neither Wisdom nor the Wise. 
abishag {with wonder and incredulity) 
Thou never hast been loved? 

SOLOMON 

By those I loved not, 
The which is worse than hate. 
364 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



abishag (with swift firmness) 

Thou hast said my thought. 
solomon (rising and coming down to her) 

Handmaid, I will not reason with thee longer. 

(She rises, facing him.) 

Thou hast been sent to me as any gift, 

And as a gift I'll use thee. If thou yield not 

Thou shalt be made a handmaid to my hand- 
maids. 

Yielding, thou shalt possess an equal throne. 

And I have gold from Ophir and the wealth — 
abishag (laughing) 

Nay, who hath bought love since the world be- 
gan? 

SOLOMON 

Yet, after God, mine is the highest place. 

ABISHAG 

Then would I love thy power and place, not 
thee. 

SOLOMON 

God gave me wisdom passing all mankind. 

ABISHAG 

Women love neither Wisdom nor the Wise. 

SOLOMON 

Thou mockest me? 

ABISHAG 

Thy wisdom I repeat! 
solomon (entranced and flattered) 

Brown-bodied little woman from the hills, 
Is there no way by which to win thy love ? 

ABISHAG 

None but to be indeed the man I love. 

365 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



SOLOMON 

What man is he? 

ABISHAG 

A shepherd of my tribe. . . . 

I'll tell of him no further lest thou send 

Those who will come with swords and seek him 
out. 
solomon {scornfully) 

And make a slave my rival in men's eyes? 
abishag (admiringly) 

Ah, thou art wise, great king, in all but love. 

SOLOMON 

What man knew woman since recorded time? 

ABISHAG 

But thou, the wisest — 

SOLOMON 

Nay, I know them less 
Than my least slave, for, seven hundred times, 
I have shown lack of wisdom, marrying. 

ABISHAG 

And still thou seekest love in me, great king? 
solomon {earnestly) 

For thou 'rt the only woman I have loved. 

ABISHAG 

A lie repeated seven hundred times. 

SOLOMON 

Nay, for now 

It springs, a living glory, born of truth: 

Not words lip-said, but brought deep from the 

heart 
As divers fetch up pearls from dangered seas. . . . 
{A paused) 

Yea, and if thou wilt not come unto me 
Then I shall find ways out to bend thy will. . . . 
366 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



Even now, even now thou livest at my word. . . . 
Put by all thoughts of shepherds and green 

hills. . . . 
A thousand towns and cities walled with stone 
Have sent the whitest of their maidens hither, 
And from the flower of these hast thou been 

chosen, 
The one bud to break into bloom for me. . . . 

ABISHAG 

J am Abiathar's, and his alone . . . 

I will speak out, ev'n if my words bring death. 

solomon {angrily) 

Doubt not but thou shalt die, denying me: 

{Persuasively.) 

But be to me the thing that I desire, 

And I will make thy pathways delicate, 

And all thy goings-out and comings-in 

As soft as wool. . . . Music shall wait on thee 

Of divers instruments, and all the world 

Will bow before thee. . . . Tyre will bring thee 

purple; 
All Egypt will be raiment unto thee; 
Ivory and apes and gold will come by ships 
Crowding the sea with white like cloud on cloud. 

{Abiathar now suddenly and silently steps from 
behind throne. Thrice he lifts dagger to stab the 
King, and each time lowers it. As he is lowering 
it the third time, Solomon turns, with slow im- 
perial dignity, and laughs in his face) 

SOLOMON 

Abiathar, thou son of Zeruel, 
Put up thy unsheathed dagger; 'tis a toy 
367 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



Too perilous for youth to play with so. . . . 
Here! Give it me! 

{He reaches for it. Abiathar draws back?) 
What, child, thou thinkest to slay Solomon? 

ABIATHAR 

Aye, to slay Solomon, who steals my love. 

SOLOMON 

Thy love — ? And darest thou rival Israel's 
king? 

ABIATHAR 

We have gone hand in hand since childhood, 
sire. 

solomon {admiringly) 
Thou art a bold youth. 

ABIATHAR 

Love hath made me so. 

SOLOMON 

So thou wouldst slay me? But what held thy 

hand? . . . 
Thrice thou assayedst. . . . 

ABIATHAR 

Thou art God's Anointed. . . . 

{Kneeling?) 

So to the merciful be merciful. . . . 

If not — even yet — 

SOLOMON 

And thinkest thou, bold young man, 
That I was not aware? Rash boy, I knew 
The moment that thou wentest from thy tent, 
Thy solitary tent among the hills, 
Where thou didst guard thy flocks nigh Dabe- 
rath, 

368 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



On Tabor's morning heights ... how thou 

didst track 
The caravan which brought Abishag hither 
By Harod's Well, Rabbith, and Lebonah. . . . 
My secret watchers held thee in their eye 
At Bethel, Beeroth, and Gibeon. . . . 
And when thou didst assay the guarded walls 
'Twas at my laughing wish the Watch with- 
drew . . . 
Yea, in the light of intermittent moons, 
And from the sinking of the day till dawn, 
And through each golden passage of the sun, 
Eyes watched thy goings-out and comings-in — 
And, but I had reserved thee for my sport, 
Thou hadst gone down to the forgotten Dark 
Ten dawns ago. 
abiathar {firmly) 

Do with me as thou wilt. 

(Kneeling^ he offers up his dagger to King.) 

abishag (also kneeling) 

And do with me as thou wilt do with him. 
solomon (triumphantly) 

Behold the wisdom of the King's device! 

(He waves his hand. The wall to the right slowly 

opens, and five bearded and armed men are seen. 

Another wave of the hand, and the wall closes 

again.) 

Thou art taken fast like any silly bird 

That drops upon a twig and finds a net. . . . 

(A pause. They still kneel, unspeaking.) 

Lovest thou not life, that thou dost rush on 
death? . . . 

Bethink thee, thou art young, Abiathar! 
369 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



ABIATHAR 

Without love life is naught. ... It was thy 

song — (Choking.) 
(Solomon's face grows alit with sudden interest. 
He leans forward) 
Thy song — that taught me so ! 
solomon (pleased) 

How, boy? . . . My song? 

ABIATHAR 

Thy song that oft I sang on silver eves 

And in the soft, rose-dappled dawns. . . . 
abishag (taking up) 

Thy song 

That thou didst make, of One and Perfect 
Love . . . 

(In a soft, sweet voice.) 

How oft we sang that song among the hills 

Tending our sheep. . . . 

(Solomon's face is bright with childlike pleasure) 

It was our hearts' one song 

At even, when the sheep were folded safe 

And the long shadows marched down from the 
hills. 
solomon (smiling imperially) 

And so he won thee with (fondly) those words of 
mine? 
abishag (joyfully) 

'Twas so he won me. And, as with us, so is it 

With all of Israel! 
solomon (leaning forward eagerly) 

"With all of Israel!" What meanest thou? 
abiathar (confidently answering for Abishag) 

Under the spell and music of thy song, 

37° 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



The world has turned to walking two by two 
In perfect love, in simple happiness 

solomon (half musing) 

That happiness which never will be mine, 
That love, which, hapless, I shall never know — 
Ah, Dream I shaped from a far dream's desire! 

abishag (with a woman s quickness, pressing the 
perceived advantage) 
Thou hast taught all the world this strange, new 

thing — 
That faithful love holds only room for two, 
That every man, each woman, must create, 
Anew, the garden of God's paradise 
By walking hand in hand, like Adam and Eve, 
Before mankind became a multitude. . . . 

solomon (full of ecstasy at his fame) 
Abishag and Abiathar, arise! 
(They stand before him.) 

There's something makes my soul compassion- 
ate. . . . 
I know not what it is — but ye may go 
Back to your hills! 
(They fall at his feet.) 
Aye, ye may go — (Sadly; half to self.) 
'Tis I that am the one caught in a net. . . . 
Nay, what am I, before this youth and love? 

My only empire is an empty heart, 
My lifted sceptre, but a gilded boast; 
The glory that I have possesses me; 
I am weighed down with splendor to my death, 
Am sickened by the wasting of desire 
37i 



SOLOMON'S SONG 



For what my wisdom, seeking, cannot find — 
And all is vanity of vanities! . . . 
{A pause . . . then , with a proud \ ringing voice?) 
Yet have I made a song that all men sing! 

CURTAIN 



372 



MATINATA 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 

by Lawrence Langner 



Matinata* was first produced by the Provincetown 

Players at the Playwrights' Theatre, New York, 

November I, 1920, with the following cast: 

Columbine Norma Millay 

Pierrot James Light 

Harlequin Sydney Powell 

* Owing to the general mispronunciation of the original title, "MaHi- 
nata," I have anglicized the spelling of the Italian word. — L. L. 



Copyright, 1921, by LAWRENCE LANGNER 

ALL RIGHTS RKSERVED 

Applications for permission to produce Matinata should be 
addressed to Mr. Lawrence Langner, 55 Liberty Street, New 
York. No performance may be given without his written consent. 



MATINATA 



SCENE 

A small room in a large city, in which Pierrot 
and Columbine make their home. The room is 
neither kitchen, bedroom, nor living-room; but 
it serves as all three; it is, in fact, a room of a char- 
acter which is denied to the rich. 
There is a bed-couch, left front; door leading to 
the bathroom, left rear; window, left center wall, 
bed-couch against center wall; kitchen sink and 
gas stove, right center wall; cupboard with dishes 
and chest of drawers against right wall rear; and 
door leading to staircase to street, right front. 
In the center are a small table and a few chairs. 

AT RISE 

Pierrot is in bed; his head lies near the window. 
Columbine is bustling around, setting the table on 
which she has already placed some of the breakfast 
dishes. 

columbine (to Pierrot) 

Breakfast is nearly ready, Pierrot! Do wake 
up. (Pierrot takes no notice. Columbine goes 
over to sit on the bed.) Don't you want some 
coffee? (Pierrot grunts.) I'm making a lovely 
breakfast for you, Pierrot. 

pierrot (sleepily) 

All right, dear! I'm getting up. (She waits 
expectantly; he rolls over and goes back to sleep.) 
375 



MATINATA 



COLUMBINE 

I'm going to stay here and bother you until 
you get up! See! I'm a mosquito! I'm buzzing 
around you! Buzz, buzz, buzz!!! {She kisses 
him.) I'm going to bite you! {She attempts 
to bite him.) 

PIERROT 

Do go away, dear! Can't you see I'm making 
up my mind to get up? It takes time. {He 
turns over so that his head is covered up, and all 
one can see of him is his hunched-up back.) 

COLUMBINE 

You'll never make up your mind! You know 
you've lots of things to do today. Please get 
up, Pierrot ! Please do ! {She begins to pull the 
bedclothes of him.) 

PIERROT 

Do leave me alone! I'm getting up. {He winds 
the covers around him.) 

COLUMBINE 

But breakfast! 

PIERROT 

I don't want any breakfast. {He settles down 
in the bed in a determined manner.) 

COLUMBINE {hurt) 

Very well! 

{She goes over to the gas stove and pours hot 
water into the coffee-pot. She looks over at 
Pierrot to see whether her new attitude will 
make any difference. It does not. She pulls 
up the blinds. She puts the coffee-pot on the table 
with a thud and sits down, moving her chair 
376 



MATINATA 



noisily. She pours herself a cup of coffee. Pier- 
rot raises his head.) 

pierrot {cheerfully) 
Hello! 

{Columbine drinks her coffee with great intensity?) 

pierrot {shouting) 

Didn't you hear what I said? 
columbine {coldly) 

What did you say? 

PIERROT 

I said, "Hello'!" 

COLUMBINE 

I've heard you say that before. Do you know 
what time it is? 

PIERROT 

No! 

COLUMBINE 

It's nearly eleven o'clock. 

PIERROT 

Now, why did you tell me that? I've slept only 
— let me see — six hours. You're very irritating! 

COLUMBINE 

I meant to be. 

PIERROT 

Very well. I shall go back to sleep. {He lies 
back on the bed.) 

COLUMBINE 

I don't care. Your company isn't so charming, 
after all. 

PIERROT 

I have a lovely idea for a song. If I could write 
it, I might be able to sell it for a hundred dol- 
lars. 

377 



MATINATA 



COLUMBINE 

If only you could! 

PIERROT 

What couldn't we do with a hundred dollars! 
I know! We could go to a hotel and have break- 
fast, lunch, and dinner served in our room so 
we could stay in bed all day. I wish I could re- 
member that song. Confound you, Columbine, 
why did you bother me! I was half dream- 
ing of it — and now you've made me forget it. 
{He sits up.) It was a song to the dawn — 
"Matinata"! 

COLUMBINE 

What do you know about the dawn ? 

PIERROT 

There is a great mystery about the dawn. It is 
seen only by people with very good habits, 
or by people with very bad habits. 

COLUMBINE 

It isn't difficult to see where you belong! 

PIERROT 

Isn't it? Well, I've never seen the dawn — that 
is, not for years! 

COLUMBINE 

You were out all night last Monday. Didn't 
you see it then ? 

PIERROT 

No, I was playing poker. I think I shall get up. 

COLUMBINE 

I've finished my breakfast. 
pierrot {gaily jumping out of bed) 

Isn't that fine! Just in time to get me mine! 
columbine 

I shall do nothing of the sort. 

378 



MATINATA 



pierrot {pleading) 

But, Columbine, dear! I'm so hungry. I've 
had nothing to eat since two o'clock — and now 
it's eleven. 

COLUMBINE 

You should have gotten up when I called you ! 

PIERROT 

My Columbine angry with me? Don't be 
angry, sweetheart. Your mouth is like a red 
rosebud when you smile — but when you're 
angry it gets thin, like a long, red worm. 

COLUMBINE 

Ugh! How can you say my mouth's like a 

worm! 
pierrot (struck with the thought) 

A worm may hide in the reddest rose! 
columbine 

I'm angry with you! 

PIERROT 

I didn't say your mouth was like that. {Gaily) 
I meant I wanted you to smile — to be happy. 
It's morning, the sun is up! 

COLUMBINE 

It's been up for hours. 
pierrot {jumping out of bed) 

And so am I! Here is your penitent Pierrot! 
If you'll only forgive me, I'll go to bed early, 
sleep all night, get up with the dawn, and bring 
you your breakfast in bed! Won't you like 
that ? {He takes off his pyjama jacket, disclosing 
his costume underneath.) 

COLUMBINE 

It would be lovely — but it'll never happen! 
Goodness me, you've slept in your clothes! 
379 



MATINATA 



PIERROT 

Yes, I was too tired to take them off. Do they 
look bad? 

COLUMBINE 

The coat's creased terribly. I shall have to 
put the iron on. You can't go out looking like 
that! {She goes over to the stove and puts on an 
iron.) 
pierrot {pulling on his stockings) 

Columbine, you are a dear! I don't deserve you. 
I know I don't. {He looks around helplessly.) 
Where are my shoes? 

COLUMBINE 

I don't know. I didn't take them off. Look 
where you least expect to find them. 

{Pierrot looks in his bed, under his pillow, and 
finally under the bed, where he finds them.) 

PIERROT 

What are you going to give me for breakfast? 

COLUMBINE 

Would you like boiled eggs ? 
pierrot {with disgust) 

Eggs! Oh, Columbine, how could you suggest 
eggs? I want something dainty, something 
with a French name that will just waft its way 
gently into my insides. 

COLUMBINE 

I suppose you've been drinking! 

PIERROT 

Not more than was necessary! 

COLUMBINE 

I'll make you an omelette. 
380 



MATINATA 



PIERROT 

The French name! And it must be a frothy 
one — clusters of air bubbles coated with egg! 
columbine {sighing) 

I shall have to dirty three extra dishes. 

PIERROT 

That makes me think of something. I knew! 
I haven't washed! 
columbine {breaking the eggs into a dish) 

Hurry, please! You'll begin to dress yourself 
just when I have everything ready for you. 

PIERROT 

Don't hurry me. Columbine. There should be 
something dignified about the way a man pre- 
pares himself for the day. If he hurries and 
skurries, it makes him fretful and nervous. A 
great opportunity may come to me today, if I 
preserve a calm in my soul. Would you have 
me miss it, just so as not to keep breakfast 
waiting for a few moments? 

COLUMBINE 

But you said you were hungry! 

PIERROT 

I am hungry. (Rises.) But I have a dignified 
hunger. I shall enter the bathroom with a 
stately air. Thus shall I begin the day and so 
shall I end it. (Exit Pierrot, bathroom door.) 

(Columbine sighs, takes the egg-beater, mixes the 
omelette and pours it into pan. She puts the 
coffee-pot back on the stove. Enter Pierrot, 
mopping his face with a towel. He dries it, then 
stands up and exercises listlessly for a few 
moments, using knife and fork as dumb-bells. 

381 



MATINATA 



He then tries rising up and down, hands on hips, 
body stiff; gets down but fails to rise; he staggers 
up. He repeats this twice, and finally falls into 
a chair at the table.) 

PIERROT 

Well! Where's the omelette? 

COLUMBINE 

It isn't ready yet. 

PIERROT 

I'm hungry. 

COLUMBINE 

Eat some bread. 

PIERROT 

Where is it? 

COLUMBINE 

Over here. 

PIERROT 

Well, why don't you bring it to me? 

COLUMBINE 

Can't you get it yourself? 

PIERROT 

Don't you see I'm sitting down to my break- 
fast? You've been hurrying me the whole 
morning, and now I'm here it isn't ready—. 

COLUMBINE 

It is ready. See, the omelette is done. {She 
puts it on his plate.) 

PIERROT 

Where's the salt? 

COLUMBINE 

Here you are! 

382 



MATINATA 



PIERROT 

And the bread. Do bring the bread! 
{She hands him bread.) 

COLUMBINE 

You are bad tempered this morning. 

PIERROT 

I'm not. {He eats the omelette ravenously.) 
columbine {sitting at the table) 
Do you like the omelette? 

PIERROT 

It's all right. I nearly had that song. Listen : — 
"Rose-colored Dawn, 
My heart's forlorn — 
Do you like that? 

COLUMBINE 

I don't. First of all, a dawn's not rose-colored; 
and, secondly, the idea's absolutely unoriginal! 

PIERROT 

You do tell the truth terribly! 

COLUMBINE 

You need someone to tell you the truth. 

PIERROT 

Those weren't the words I was thinking of 
in bed. If you don't like them, it's your own 
fault for waking me up. What I said just now 
was inspired by the omelette. 

COLUMBINE 

Don't be stupid, Pierrot. If I waked you up, 

it was because I had to. I've worked all the 

week and now it's your turn. There isn't a 
thing in the place to eat. 

PIERROT 

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could school 
383 



MATINATA 



ourselves to live without food; one could do it 
gradually. After all, material functions are 
merely matters of habit. 

COLUMBINE 

I wish you'd get the habit of working! 
pierrot (hopelessly) 
Oh dear ! (He stretches?) 

COLUMBINE 

You kicked me — right on the leg! 
pierrot (indifferently) 

Did I? 
columbine 

Yes. You might say you're sorry. 
pierrot (sharply) 

I suppose I am sorry. Is it necessary to say so? 
columbine (indignantly) 

It certainly is! 
pierrot (equally indignant) 

I might say equally, why did you have your leg 

in my way? My desire to stretch was frustrated 

— and by your leg! 
columbine 

Do you mean you're not sorry ? 

PIERROT 

I mean that if your leg hadn't been there, I 

wouldn't have kicked it. 
columbine (angrily) 

Where should I put my leg? 
pierrot (more angrily still) 

Somewhere where it wouldn't be in my way! 
columbine (rising) 

Look here, Pierrot, I've just about had enough 

of you. You don't care what you do, or what 



you say! 



384 



MATINATA 



pierrot {angrily) 

I suppose I don't! Well, I'm going. {He puts 

on his hat.) 
columbine {alarmed) 

Where are you going? 
pierrot {bitterly) 

To work. To sell my immortality for a mess of 

pottage. 

COLUMBINE 

But I haven't ironed your coat — it is all creased. 
You look disreputable. 

PIERROT 

I don't care how I look. 

COLUMBINE 

And you haven't finished your breakfast. 

PIERROT 

I'm not going to finish it. 

{He goes out, slamming the door. Columbine 
sits at the table and weeps. After a pause > enter 
Harlequin. He stands at the door.) 

harlequin {with aplomb) 

Good morning! 
columbine {through her tears) 

Hello, Harlequin! 

HARLEQUIN 

Is that all you say to me, just "Hello"? Aren't 
you glad to see me ? 
columbine {tearfully) 
Yes, Harlequin! 

{Harlequin approaches her.) 

HARLEQUIN 

What's the matter? You're crying. 

385 



MATINATA 



columbine (tearfully) 
Yes, Harlequin. 

HARLEQUIN 

Why are you crying? It's not over me, is it? 

COLUMBINE 

No, Harlequin. 
harlequin (disappointed) 
No ? Oh ! I thought it was ! 

COLUMBINE 

Why, Harlequin? 

HARLEQUIN 

Well, I know I haven't been very nice to you 
lately. But it's all over now, Columbine. Tell 
me what you've been crying about. 

COLUMBINE 

I don't know. 

{Harlequin takes her hand?) 

harlequin {sympathetically) 

Won't you tell Harlequin? Perhaps he can help 

you. 
columbine 

Oh, Harlequin, it's — it's Pierrot! (She weeps 

again?) 

HARLEQUIN 

It's too bad, dear. Pierrots are the same the 
world over. You may thank your stars that 
wherever there's a Pierrot you'll always find 
a Harlequin for consolation! 
columbine 

I'd like you to console me, Harlequin, but I 
don't think it would be right. 

HARLEQUIN 

Oh, yes it would. Harlequins are quite neces- 

3 86 



MATINATA 



sary to the world. The Pierrots would be quite 
unbearable without them. And now tell me, 
what has Pierrot been doing? 

columbine (tearfully) 

It's what he hasn't been doing. 

HARLEQUIN 

Oh! Neglecting you! 

COLUMBINE 

Neglecting himself. Wasting his time. Going 
to parties, staying up late, working only when 
he has to. He's so — so inefficient with him- 
self. 

HARLEQUIN 

Not with himself, Columbine, but with you. 
Columbine dear, if you were my wife, how I 
would devote myself to you! It would be the 
greatest pleasure for me to do little things for 
you, to make your life easier, instead of com- 
plicating it as Pierrot does. You make yourself 
a slave to him; you spoil him. 

COLUMBINE 

I know I do. He went away just now and left 
everything for me to do. The dishes aren't 
washed, the beds aren't made. He didn't get 
up 'til eleven o'clock! 

HARLEQUIN 

Eleven o'clock! (With immense satisfaction.) 
I've been up since five. What a way to treat 
you! Well, dear, I shall help you. Nobody can 
call Me inefficient! 

COLUMBINE 

How I wish Pierrot had some of your qualities! 
387 



MATINATA 



harlequin {with still more satisfaction) 
He never will have. {Jumps up.) Shall we be- 
gin? 

COLUMBINE 

Begin what? 

HARLEQUIN 

Tidying up. I hate to sit in a room that's dis- 
orderly. 
columbine {coaxing) 
Oh, let's talk for a while. I don't feel like tidy- 
ing up yet. 

HARLEQUIN 

Don't you move! You stay right there. I'll 
do it. You've worked enough this morning. 
columbine {catches his arm) 

You are a dear to want to help me. 

HARLEQUIN 

There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, 
Columbine. {He bends his head down to her 
and kisses her.) 

columbine {with a little cry of pleasure) 
Oh, Harlequin! 

harlequin {taking her hand) 

Columbine, dear, I love you. It's breaking 
my heart to see you so unhappy, to see your 
dear hands so hardened and stained by working 
and scrubbing for Pierrot, who doesn't ap- 
preciate you in the very least little bit. 

columbine {weeps) 
It's true. He doesn't. 

HARLEQUIN 

He stays out night after night, drinking and 
gambling, and when he's so tired that he can do 
nothing else, he comes back to you and offers 

3 88 



MATINATA 



you the dregs of himself. Columbine, you are 
too wonderful to be wasted on such a man. 
columbine {weepingly) 
I am ! I know I am ! 

HARLEQUIN 

Then leave him ! 
columbine {amazed) 

Leave him? 
harlequin 

Yes, come with me. 
columbine {enthusiastically) 

Oh — an elopement! 

HARLEQUIN 

This wouldn't be an elopement exactly. We 
should have to go through the form of a legal 
separation. 
columbine {disappointed) 

But an elopement! IVe always wanted an 
elopement! 

HARLEQUIN 

I know, dear, but you must really leave this to 

me. An elopement is very romantic and all that, 

but a legal separation is really the most sensible 

way of doing it. 
columbine {pouting) 

Very well, if you say so. I'm not sure I'm 

very keen about a legal separation. It sounds 

so — so — 
harlequin {interrupting) 

Practical. And that's just what it is. 
columbine {admiringly) 

You are practical, Harlequin. What do I have 

to do? 

389 



MATINATA 



HARLEQUIN 

Sit right down and leave everything to me. I 
shall attend to every detail. 

COLUMBINE 

You are a dear, Harlequin. (She sits down on a 
chair by the tabled) Kiss me, sweetheart. 

(Harlequin bends over and kisses her.) 

harlequin (still bending over her) 
This isn't very comfortable. 

columbine (rising) 

You sit here and let me sit on your lap. (Harle- 
quin sits down, and she sits on his knee.) Tell me, 
Harlequin, how was it you came to fall in love 
with me? 

harlequin (starting) 

Oh, dear, I've put my sleeve in the omelette 
I'm covered with egg. Do you mind if I clear off 
the table? 

(Columbine jumps off his knee and Harlequin 

rises.) 

columbine (anxiously) 

Let me help you. 
harlequin (wiping his sleeve) 

No, I can manage, dear. 

COLUMBINE 

But Harlequin! 

HARLEQUIN 

But Columbine! 

COLUMBINE 

Oh, very well. (She sits down.) 

HARLEQUIN 

I'll clear them all off in a second. 
390 



MATINATA 



{He piles all the dishes on one arm, and in a jew 
seconds has carried them all ojf> like an expert 
waiter.) 

columbine {admiringly) 

How clever you are. Harlequin! 

HARLEQUIN 

While I'm up, I think I'll fix the beds. 

COLUMBINE 

But, Harlequin, what about the elopement? 
harlequin {rather sharply) 
The legal separation? 

COLUMBINE 

Yes, when shall we get started? 

HARLEQUIN 

When will Pierrot return ? 

COLUMBINE 

I don't know. 

HARLEQUIN 

Didn't you ask him, dear? 

COLUMBINE 

No! 

HARLEQUIN 

That was rather thoughtless of you. 

COLUMBINE 

But, Harlequin, I didn't know we were going to 
elope when he left this morning. 

HARLEQUIN 

Of course you didn't, but on general principles, 
if you're living with a person constantly, Colum- 
bine, you ought to know just about what his 
habits are, and how long he may be expected to 
be away. 

39 1 



MATINATA 



COLUMBINE 

But Pierrot has no habits. 

HARLEQUIN 

That's true. I suppose you'd better get packed, 

so we can leave before he returns. Where is 

your suitcase, dear? 
columbine {pointing) 

Under the bed. 
harlequin (pulls out the suitcase) 

Lord, what a state it's in! Have you a duster? 

COLUMBINE 

Let me do it. 

HARLEQUIN 

Please, Columbine. Tell me where you keep the 
duster. 

COLUMBINE 

Please let me do it. 

HARLEQUIN 

Now, Columbine, didn't you say you'd leave 
everything to me? 

COLUMBINE 

But I want to do it! 

HARLEQUIN 

Very well, I know what we'll do. You pack the 
suitcase and I'll tidy the room. 

(Columbine takes the suitcase and dusts it with 
her handkerchief^) 

Using your handkerchief, dear? 

COLUMBINE 

I have no duster. 

HARLEQUIN 

No duster? 

392 



MATINATA 



COLUMBINE 

No! 
harlequin {expansively) 

When you are living with me, dear, we shall have 
large piles of dusters! We shall have small, 
striped ones, large tea cloths, dishcloths, towels, 
and washrags, and every kind of brush, broom, 
and cleaning appliance! 

COLUMBINE 

How wonderful! 
harlequin {begins making Pierrot's bed) 
Does Pierrot sleep in this bed? 

COLUMBINE 

Yes. 

HARLEQUIN 

I thought so. Nobody but Pierrot could stand 
such sheets. 
columbine {alarmed) 

They're clean, aren't they? 

HARLEQUIN 

Yes, but cotton and such cotton! When you 
live with me, Columbine, you shall sleep on linen. 
What's this? {He takes out a photograph of 
Columbine in a silver frame from under pillow?) 
columbine {taking the picture) 
Where did you find it? 

HARLEQUIN 

Under his pillow. 

COLUMBINE 

Silly Pierrot! 

HARLEQUIN 

Silly's too mild a name for a lazy sentimentalist 
like Pierrot. Sleeps with his wife's photograph! 
393 



MATINATA 



COLUMBINE 

Hadn't we better hurry? 

HARLEQUIN 

We can't go away and leave the place untidy — 
though I suppose Pierrot would never notice it. 

COLUMBINE 

No — I don't think he would. 

{Columbine begins to bundle her underwear and 
clothes into the suitcase. Harlequin continues 
making up the bed.) 

harlequin {making the bed) 

Do you tuck the quilt under the mattress on 
both sides, or only on the left-hand side? 

columbine {carelessly) 
Oh, any old way. 

harlequin {dogmatically) 

The correct way is to tuck it under on the left- 
hand side only. {Columbine attempts to close the 
suitcase. Harlequin sees her.) Don't do that, 
Columbine. You're liable to strain yourself. 
Let me do it. {Harlequin begins to struggle 
with the suitcase but fails to close it.) You have 
too much in it. Do you mind if I open it? 

columbine 

But, Harlequin, we must hurry. Pierrot may 
come back any moment. 

HARLEQUIN 

We can't go away with all your things trailing 
out of the suitcase, dear ! {He opens it and turns 
to Columbine reproachfully.) Columbine! 

COLUMBINE 

Yes, it is untidy, isn't it? I was so excited I 
just pushed everything in. 
394 



MATINATA 



HARLEQUIN 

No wonder I couldn't close it. Columbine, 
dear, just leave this packing to me, will you? 
Look, here's a magazine. \(He gives it to her and 
guides her to chair.) You sit down there and read 
it for a few minutes, and I'll have your suitcase 
packed like lightning. 

COLUMBINE 

But I feel so useless ! 
harlequin {reproachfully) 

Columbine! 
columbine 

I do. 

HARLEQUIN 

But you want to go away with me, don't you, 
dear ? 

columbine {dubiously) 
I suppose I do. 

HARLEQUIN 

You suppose? Don't you know, Columbine, 
darling? 

COLUMBINE 

Yes, of course I know. 

HARLEQUIN 

Very well. Leave everything to me and there 
won't be any hitch. 

{He begins packing up her clothes, which he has 
dumped out of the suitcase onto the floor. He is an 
expert packer; everything is folded up into the 
tiniest space. Columbine watches him appre- 
hensively over the top of the magazine. Harlequin 
begins to fold up a very frilly nightgown.) 
395 



MATINATA 



COLUMBINE 

Please don't look at that, Harlequin! 

HARLEQUIN 

Why not? 

COLUMBINE 

It embarrasses me. 

HARLEQUIN 

I've seen loads of them. 

COLUMBINE 

Harlequin ! 

HARLEQUIN 

In shop windows. But isn't this rather a 
stupid one? 

COLUMBINE 

Pierrot doesn't think so. 

HARLEQUIN 

It is rather stupid, though. Look at aU that 
frilly lace on the shoulders! It means that the 
gown lasts half as long. You are always liable 
to catch cold wearing it. Then again, the 
laundering is always more difficult, and conse- 
quently more expensive, and it often scratches 
your skin when they put too much starch in 
it. {His voice full of promise.) I'll buy you some 
simple, practical ones, without any frills and 
fripperies. 

COLUMBINE 

But I like that one. 

{Harlequin has another frilly garment in his hand. 
She jumps up and takes it away from him.) 

harlequin {amazed) 

Columbine, you don't mean to tell me you 
wear those! 

396 



MATINATA 



columbine {puzzled) 
Yes, I do; why not? 

HARLEQUIN 

Goodness me, they're mid- Victorian. You take 
me back to the days of my grandmother. 

COLUMBINE 

What's the matter with them? 

HARLEQUIN 

I shall have to buy you an entirely new trous- 
seau! 

COLUMBINE 

I don't know that I want a new trousseau! 

HARLEQUIN 

Indeed you do. You need a new dress badly, 
too. When you live with me, I shall work hard 
and buy you loads of wonderful clothes. I shall 
select them myself. I want everybody to admire 
you and say what a faultlessly dressed woman 
you are! There! Everything's in, and there's 
room for a whole lot more. Are you sure you 
have everything? 
columbine {putting on coat and hat) 
Quite sure. Come along. 

HARLEQUIN 

Did you remember to put in your rubbers ? 
columbine {puzzled) 

Rubbers — on an elopement? 

HARLEQUIN 

Yes, why not? It might rain. 

COLUMBINE 

Well, I won't put in rubbers! 

HARLEQUIN 

If it rains, you'd take cold without them. 
397 



MATINATA 



COLUMBINE 

I will not take rubbers. 

HARLEQUIN 

Columbine, I insist on rubbers. 
columbine {sarcastically) 

Very well, I have no rubbers. But I have an 
umbrella — perhaps you'd like me to take that! 

HARLEQUIN 

That would be an excellent idea! 
columbine (getting angry) 

And how about a small medicine chest with 
mustard plasters, hot water bottles, and all the 
necessary equipment for treating small wounds, 
sprains, bruises, burns, and chapped hands? 

HARLEQUIN 

Columbine, I believe you are angry with me. 

COLUMBINE 

Angry with you? No, Harlequin, I'm not angry 
with you. I'm angry with myself. Imagine 
eloping with a man who insists on packing 
rubbers and an umbrella. Oh, Lord! 

HARLEQUIN 

My dear, I'm simply trying to be practical! 
columbine (scornfully) 

Practical! Why haven't you brought a lawyer 
with you ? Why haven't we signed the necessary 
legal documents? Why haven't you brought a 
doctor in case we have an accident, and a trained 
nurse, and a hospital, and an ambulance? Why 
haven't you been really practical? 

HARLEQUIN 

Columbine, you're making fun of me! 

COLUMBINE 

No, I'm not! If I elope, it must be with a 
398 



MATINATA 



practical man, not an amateur. I want him 
to bring along railroad trains and seaside 
hotels and ocean liners ! 

HARLEQUIN 

You are making fun of me! Columbine, I shall 
not go away with you. 
columbine {points to sink) 

How could you go away with me when the dishes 
aren't washed ? {A noise is heard outside.) Hist ! 
It's Pierrot! 

HARLEQUIN 

What shall I do? 

COLUMBINE 

Something practical! 

HARLEQUIN 

I'll hide in the bathroom. 

{Exit Harlequin, bathroom door. Columbine 
takes of her hat and coat and passes Harlequin's 
hat and walkingstick into the bathroom. 
Enter Pierrot. He carries a small straggling bunch 
of flowers.) 

pierrot {penitently) 

Columbine, dear, these are for you! 

COLUMBINE 

Pierrot, dear! {They embrace.) 

PIERROT 

Forgive me, darling! 

COLUMBINE 

There's nothing to forgive, dearest. 

PIERROT 

I was rude to you! 

399 



MATINATA 



COLUMBINE 

It was my fault, Pierrot. I had my leg in your 
way! 

PIERROT 

No, dearest, I was wrong in kicking my foot 
against you ! I know I was. So I went out into 
the fields and picked these flowers for you. Then 
I sat on the grass and looked at them, and do 
you know, Columbine, dear, that the song came 
back to me, the one I was dreaming about when 
you woke me up this morning — "Matinata " 
I called it — so I wrote it down on a piece of 
paper and took it to the song publishers and 
would you believe it — they paid me ninety dol- 
lars and forty-seven cents for it! 
columbine {amazed) 
And forty-seven cents! 

PIERROT 

Three dollars and seven cents a line! Look, 
here's the money ! {He pulls out the roll of bills 
and shows them to her.) Do you know what 
I'm going to do with it? I'm going to buy half 
a dozen of the laciest of lace nighties for you! 
The ones you have are nearly worn out. 
columbine 

But, darling, they are so impractical! 

PIERROT 

They're beautiful! And then I'm going to bring 
you half a dozen pairs of — 
columbine {glancing apprehensively at the bath- 
room door) 
Never mind, Pierrot! 

PIERROT 

And with the rest of the money we'll go on a 
400 



MATINATA 



little trip together! You'll have to pack your 
suitcase! 
columbine {shows her suitcase) 
It is packed! 

PIERROT 

How did you come to do that ? 
columbine {hesitating, then lying heroically) 
Woman's intuition! The moment you said 
those few lines at the breakfast table, I just 
knew the publisher would buy the song! 

PIERROT 

Have you any room for my things? 
columbine {opens suitcase) 

Lots! 
pierrot {admiringly) 

How neatly you packed it! Here, drop these in. 

{He throws in some clothes and shuts the suitcase, 
stamps on it and goes to the door, right. Columbine 
puts on her hat and picks up the suitcase^) 

PIERROT 

Columbine, you look charming in those old 
clothes. People will think we're eloping! 

{They kiss. Exit Pierrot. The bathroom door 
opens and Harlequin peeps through.) 

columbine {calls dowstairs, looking at Harlequin) 
Pierrot, dear, shall I bring rubbers ? 

{Exit Columbine. Enter Harlequin. He looks out 
of the window, sighs, goes over to the table, shrugs 
his shoulders, and begins to wash the dishes,) 

CURTAIN 



401 



THE CONFLICT 

A DRAMA IN ONE ACT 

bv Clarice Vallette McCauley 



The Conflict was first produced at the Vagabond 
Theatre, Baltimore, Monday evening, December 6, 1920. 

CHARACTERS 

Emelie, Mrs. J. A. Dushane Penniman 

Bess, {%"?**£ 

9 ( Harriet Gibbs 

Bob, John Steuart 

Mother, Mrs. S. Johnson Poe 

Produced by May Standish Rose. Setting by 
the Vagabond Workshop 



Copyright, 1920, 1921, by CLARICE VALLETTE McCAULEY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Originally published by The Norman, Remington Company as 

No. 6 of the Vagabond Plays, The Conflict is included in this 

collection by special arrangement with the author. 

Application for permission to produce this play should be made to 
Clarice Vallette McCauley, Columbia University, New York City. 



THE CONFLICT 

characters {in the order of their appearance) : 
emelie, the elder daughter of the house, who has 
already tested her wings in a first flight. 
bess, seventeen — just beginning to be aware of the 
worlds outside. 

bobs, thirteen — a vigorous young animal with no 
wings to speak of as yet. 

the mother, guardian of the nest, and very 
jealous of the world — where her brood is concerned. 

scene: The kitchen of an old-fashioned farmhouse. 

time : Late afternoon of an April day. 

In the back wall, well to the right, is a door leading 
into the garden. Left of center a broad window 
curtained in crisp white muslin. In the right wall 
— down stage — a door leading to the living-rooms 
at the front of the house. Just opposite — in the 
left wall — a door which, when opened, reveals a 
narrow flight of stairs which turn and disappear 
— evidently the back stairway leading to the rear 
bedrooms. 

In the upper left-hand corner a built-in kitchen 
range with copper preserving kettle above it. In 
the upper right a small sink with pump attach- 
ment — a little oak-framed mirror over it — a roller 
towel on the wall beside it. Further down, on the 
405 



THE CONFLICT 



right, a cupboard filled with old-fashioned china 
— a nest of yellow bowls — a pan of apples. A 
drop-leaf table down right of center is covered with 
a pretty blue and white cloth — a cane-seated 
rocker on the right of it — on the left a straight 
chair to match. Between outer door and window 
is a little table with a workbasket on it — a clock 
hangs on the wall above it. Near the window a 
chair — on the sill potted geraniums in bloom. The 
window is open and through it you get a glimpse 
of a white lilac bush in flower. The square of sun- 
shine on the floor is gradually cut off diagonally — 
as though by a slanting roof — //// near the end it 
disappears entirely. 

{Note. — The room should suggest by every detail 
of its cheery, wholesome orderliness a certain sym- 
pathetic plea for the mother. Otherwise ', if the 
home were unattractive, there would at once be 
furnished a reason for the children s wish to leave 
it; but there is no fundamental reason — other than 
the primordial urge to try our wings, which gets 
us all, sometime; and which no mother can success- 
fully deny without forever crippling her child. In 
contrast to the crisp, clear-cut details of the kitchen 
is the vague, hazy sunshininess of the garden out- 
side the door.) 

As the curtain rises Emelie is discovered seated 
at left of the center table writing a letter. On this 
table stands a small black traveling-bag, and scat- 
tered around it gloves, purse, a few letters. 
Emelie is a tall girl of about twenty-three, not ex- 
actly beautiful, but with a certain nobility of pur- 
406 



THE CONFLICT 



pose in her face that lends her distinction, and the 
lines of her slender figure in its solemn black are 
full of allurement. Her face quivers as she writes, 
and she stops a moment to wipe her eyes. There is 
the cheery, impudent call of a robin in the garden, 
and Bess enters from the living-room. 
Bess is a girl of seventeen. She is not in mourning 
like her sister, but her white skirt and middy - 
blouse are set off by a black tie, and a black ribbon 
on her hair. She has emptied a vase of withered 
flowers on to a newspaper, and carries them care- 
fully before her. 

emelie (looking up and referring to the flowers) 
Gone — are they? 

BESS 

Yes — lilacs droop so soon. I cut these for you 
to take with you on the train. 
emelie {absent-mindedly , looking at her letter) 
I'm sorry, Puss — 

BESS 

I'm not; I'm, oh, so glad — you stayed! (She 
has stopped back of the chair to give her sister a 
hug.) You can't think how much even two days 
more means to us. You're surely going this 
time? 

EMELIE 

Yes. 
bess (going up towards window) 

Then I'd better cut you some more. The white 
ones by the window — they're in bloom now — 
and they last longer, I think. Do you like them 
just as well? 

407 



THE CONFLICT 



emelie {writing) 
Just as well, dear. 

bess {raising the lid of the range and emptying news- 
paper) 

My! It's good I looked at this fire. It's almost 
gone. {Reaches into wood-box and puts wood on 
fire as she speaks^) And Mother told Bob to tend 
to it, but, of course, he's out — as usual — dear 
knows where. {There's the sound of a rapidly 
passing train , and the sky above the window is 
darkened — as is the square of sunlight on the floor. 
Bess looks at the clock.) There goes the express 
now. I suppose you'll take the 5.05? 

EMELIE 

Yes. 

BESS 

Well — You'll want supper before you go. 

EMELIE 

No, Bess, don't bother. I'm not hungry — I can 
get tea on the train. 
bess {coming down) 

Sister, you haven't changed your mind? 

EMELIE 

No. 

BESS 

You're really going to New York? 

EMELIE 

Yes. 

BESS 

Does Mother know? {Emelie nods.) But she 
doesn't believe you'll do it? 

EMELIE 

I suppose not. 

j.08 



THE CONFLICT 



BESS 

And when Mother sets her mind against any- 
thing we want to do — you know how it is — even 
Father always gave in to her — in the end. Don't 
you feel afraid — she'll persuade you not to go? 

EMELIE 

I hate to vex her, dear, but — well — neither of 
you quite understand. My whole future, my 
very life depends on this. {Under her breath.) 
More than my life, perhaps. 
bess {who has caught the last phrase, looks at her 
searchingly) 

Sister — {Coming down back of the table.) you 
know that talk — we — had — last night? After 
we had gone to bed? 

EMELIE 

Yes — I kept you awake till all hours. 

BESS 

It was I kept you. Well — you know what you 
said — about how, sometimes, when you wanted 
something that wasn't good for you and didn't 
feel very strong — how it was awfully foolish to 
hang around in sight of it, and how it was much, 
much wiser to run away from temptation ? 

EMELIE 

Yes. 
bess {coming around and kneeling softly beside her) 
Are you — running away — from temptation ? 

EMELIE 

Little sister, dear little sister, what are you say- 
ing? 
bess {with the frank persistence of a child) 
Are you? 

409 



THE CONFLICT 



emelie (frames the earnest face in her hands , and as 
she stoops to kiss her, whispers) 
Sh — yes. 

BESS 

Oh, I was sure of it! Then that's why you're 
not going back to Boston. I knew it — I knew 
it — It's those letters! (Reaches towards them.) 

emelie (checking her) 

Darling! You don't know what you're talking 
about. Those letters are from a very, very dear 
friend 

bess (convictingly) 
In Boston! 

EMELIE 

Well, yes 

BESS 



And they always make you cry — such funny 
tears ! 

EMELIE 

They spoke of Father — of our loss, dear. If 
they made me cry it was because they were so 
full of tenderness — of sympathy 

BESS 

You think so much of him, sister? 

EMELIE 

So much, dear. He's the best, the truest friend 
I ever had. 
bess (puzzled) 
Then why? 

EMELIE 

Don't, darling. I've no right I don't dare 

Oh, I can't explain 

bess (jealously) 

Well — just the same — I'm glad you're going to 
410 



THE CONFLICT 



New York instead. I wish I were. Is that 
really an honest-to-goodness contract — that 
long one? {Indicating envelope.) 
emelie {laughing and abandoning hope of writing 
for the time.) 

Not exactly. It's an offer, though — from one of 
the biggest magazines in New York — suggesting 
subjects for four of my kiddie pictures. If they 
like them — and they shall like them — they'll 
produce them in colors. And then — it's up to 
the public. If the public likes them — if it laughs 
— and applauds — and clamors for more — why, 
then I can ask, oh, just anything I want for my 
work — in reason, of course — and they'll give it 
to me. That's the way of the world. 

BESS 

Isn't is splendid? And that's when you'll send 
for me ? 

EMELIE 

Yes, dear — if Mother will let you 

bess {despairingly) 
Oh, Mother 

EMELIE 



Don't cross bridges, Honey. You know I must 
first be very sure that I can take care of you — 
before I talk to Mother. 

BESS 

You don't think I'll be too old, by then? 

EMELIE 

For music? You goosie, of course not! If you 
don't strain those sweet little vocal cords of 
yours, you'll be just right to begin. Pussy, run 
along now and cut the lilacs, won't you? — while 
411 



THE CONFLICT 



I finish my letter. And send Bobs if you see 
him about. I want him to mail this for me. 
bess (going) 

I shouldn't wonder if that's where he's gone — 
to the post-office. Shall I raise the shade? 

EMELIE 

Yes, dear; and leave the door open — the air's so 
good to-day. 
bess (taking a large scissors from a hook near the 
door — wistfully) 

I wish I was going to New York. (Goes out, 
leaving door open?) 

(Through the open door the sun falls in a tessel- 
lated square — as though through a trellis — across 
the threshold. Emelie resumes her letter-writing. 
Bess is seen through the window at the lilac bush. 
There is no sound for a moment but the twittering 
of birds and a little dry sob from the girl at the 
table. Then a boys clear whistle is heard, to which 
Bess replies, and presently a boy's shadow falls 
across the threshold, and an instant later he is ap- 
parently joined by Bess, who has gone to meet him. 
By this time Emelie has sealed her letter and is ad- 
dressing it.) 

emelie (calling) 

Bobbie! 
bob (from outside) 

All right. Sis! I'm coming. (Entering.) Bess 

said you wanted me. 

(Bobbie is a boy of twelve or thirteen — perfectly 
clean but barefooted, and in the boyish dishabille 
of a fellow that lives close to the ground. There is 
no subtlety about Bobbie — he's just plain Boy.) 
412 



THE CONFLICT 



EMELIE 

Yes, I — goodness, Bobs! Bare feet, so early in 
Spring! Won't you catch cold? 

BOB 

Cold! Forget it! D'ye think I'm a girl? Say, 
Em! You're sure some letter writer. Gettin' 
'em and sendin' 'em every mail — must keep you 
busy. Don't you want a secr'tary? 

EMELIE 

If I did, I wouldn't hire you — you fourth-grader, 
you! 

bob {good-naturedly) 

Gee, what a wallop! Don't I make a pretty 
good fist at corresponding, though? Oh, well! 
Who wants to write, anyway? I got no use for a 
pen; but gimme a hammer an' saw an' some 
nails, an' I'll make you own up that I can't be 
beat turnin' out chick'n-coops. Ain't that 
right? 

emeue (laughing) 

It surely is; but, good gracious, Bobs, haven't 
you any ambition? Don't you ever think what 
you want to be when you're a man? 

BOB 

Sure I do! I'm goin' to stay right here and have 
the best little chick'n-farm in the county. 
Nothin' but Wy'ndottes an' Barr'd Rocks in 
mine! Well — mebbe some Leghorns f'r the 
eggs. 
emelie (smilingly) 
Oh, well! In that case, it's all right, I suppose. 
It's a good thing one of us wants to stick to the 

old place. If it were only Jim, now By the 

413 



THE CONFLICT 



way, Bobs, where is Jim? I haven't seen him 
all day. 

BOB 

Off with the gang, I guess. 

EMELIE 

Oh, dear! That isn't right. He ought to cut 
that out! — that's how he got into all that 
trouble. 

BOB 

You got it doped out wrong. Cutting it out's 
what got him in Dutch! 

EMELIE 

Bob! What do you mean? I don't understand. 
bob {loftily) 

No, and nobody takes the trouble to understand 
a fellow around here. 

EMELIE 

Robert! I don't think that's quite fair — not to 
me! 

BOB 

Oh, well, it makes me sore. Jim's all right — 
even if he does get pretty bossy sometimes. 
And Jim never got a square deal in this mixup 
- — never, from nobody. Seems to me anyone 
could understand that you can't go out with 
fellers one day an' cut 'em out the next — just 
like that ! (He makes a little perpendicular chop- 
ping-off gesture with one hand.) But you know 
how Mother is! When she says cut it out — it 
means cut it out — just like that! Not to-morror', 
or th' next day — or lettin' 'em down easy — but 
now! Well, the night she said "No more of it!" 
the gang was meetin' at Dutch Heinie's for a 

game o' cards 

414 



THE CONFLICT 



EMELIE 

Oh, Bobbie! 

BOB 

Oh, well — they'd been meetin' all winter — 
nothin' to it! But somebody must've got wind 
of it — an' the whole crowd gets pinched! — an', 
of course, just 'cause Jim had cut it out so sud- 
den and shamefaced-like, they thought he was 
the squealer — and mebbe they didn't have 
trouble planted for him from that on. Say, he 
didn't any more break into Martin's show-case 
than I did. 

EMELIE 

Of course he didn't! My own brother! Don't I 
know that, Bobs? 

BOB 

Well, if you'd heard Mother questioning him — 
you'd a thought he was a liar as well as a thief. 

EMELIE 

Sh — Bobbie! That's the unfortunate part of it. 
That's what he got for going with bad company. 

BOB 

Well — he sure had enough of 'em. When he got 
out didn't he just beg Mother to let him get 
away from here? He knows they're no good — 
but in a little place like this what's a fellow goin' 
to do? He wanted to go to Fall River; Uncle 
Zack'd a got him a job there. But Mother said 
he was too young to be breaking home ties. 

EMELIE 

Oh, Bobbie — you don't understand, dear. 
Mother didn't want him away then, with Father 
sick. 
27 415 



THE CONFLICT 



bob {sullenly) 

No, and she won't let him go now, with Father 

{He stops, gulps, and turns away suddenly, 

brushing his eyes with his coat-sleeve.) 

emelie {going to him) 

There, there, Bobbie — I know! It does seem as 
if everything was set against his getting a 
chance. But we will have to think hard — and 
stand together — and just be patient a little 
longer. 

BOB 

Well, I'll tell you something! It wouldn't sur- 
prise me none if he'd run away and enlist some 
day. 

EMELIE 

He can't! He's too young. 

BOB 

What's the matter with lying? 

EMELIE 

Bobby! 

BOB 

Oh, well, Jiminy Crickuts! If I wanted to get 
out of a place as bad as Jim does out 'a this one 
my brain 'u'd get so cracked I'd forget my name 
— let alone my birthday. Where's Mother? 
Out? 

EMELIE 

I think she's taking a nap, dear — she went up 
to lie down. You know she's all worn out with 
nursing 

bob {nodding and speaking quickly) 

Does she take it all right — you're going? 
416 



THE CONFLICT 



EMELIE 

Bobs, dear! I don't like to hear you speak of 
Mother that way. 

BOB 

Aw, gee! 

EMELIE 

Well, I don't. It sounds so disrespectful. And 
you love her. 

BOB 

Course I do — you know it! 

EMELIE 

Sure I know it. Why, just think! You are her 

baby! 
bob {slyly) 

Say, I don't get no chance to forget that neither. 
emelie {shaking him) 

Bobbie, you're incorrigible. 
bob ( purposely as ungrammatical as he knows how 

to be) 

I ain't never goin' to get no chance to grow up! 

I'm like that guy — what's his name? Peter Pan! 

That's me! Well, where's this letter you wanted 

me to mail? {Going to table?) 

EMELIE 

You haven't been to the post-office? 

BOB 

No. {Half sheepishly?) Mrs. Lane's. She prom- 
ised to have something for me. {Picks up 
letter?) Bostinti, eh? Well — Jumpin' J^-hosa- 
phat! What do you want to mail this here for? 
Why don't you take it along? 

EMELIE 

I'm not going that way. 
417 



THE CONFLICT 



BOB 

You ain't going by the 5.15 to Boston. 

EMELIE 

No, dear youth — I take the 5.05 to New York. 
bob (whistles) 
Mother know? 

{Enter Bess with lilacs.) 

EMELIE 

Yes, she — knows. 

BOB 

Well, I'm off. (To Bess.) Shall we show her 
what I got? (Exit.) 
bess (explaining Bob's last speech) 
Pansies, Emelie. 

EMELIE 

Oh, for Father. (Taking the lilacs from Bess.) 
Thank you, dear — they're beautiful — and like 
you. They'll go along to take care of me, Sweet- 
heart. 

(Re-enter Bob with a broad, shallow basket 
filled with pansy plants.) 

BOB 

Pansies! Ain't they beauts? Mrs. Lane gave 
'em to me. It looks so rough up there — no sod, 
nor nothin' growin'. Bess an' I were goin' to 
set 'em out this afternoon, but they can wait till 
morning. I won't have more'n time to get to 
the post-office and back before your train goes. 
Well — you don't have far to go — that's one com- 
fort. Comes in sort o' handy this havin' a pri- 
vate railroad station at your back door, eh? 
Well— I'm off. 

418 



THE CONFLICT 



EMELIE 

Wait, Bobbie. I don't want you to come back 
here. 

BOB 

What! Not to say good-bye? 

EMELIE 

I can't say good-bye to you children that way. 
I don't want either of you here when — they're 
going to be so hard — these last few moments 
with Mother. Bess will take the pansies and 
wait for you — you know the little siding where 
the train almost stops? I'll wave good-bye to 
you there; and after the train's gone, why, you 
two can go to the cemetery together, and all the 
way to New York I'll be seeing you setting out 
the pansies on Father's grave. 

BOB 

Don't, Em! Funny how a feller misses him — 

though he hardly ever said much Aw' Gee ! 

{Disgusted with himself for showing emotion.) 
Take care of yourself, Em. Write soon ! {Rushes 
blindly off.) 

{The two girls stand for a moment in each other's 
arms, then they break away with a guilty look at 
the clock.) 

BESS 

Do you think she's sleeping? 

EMELIE 

No. 

BESS 

Then why 

EMELIE 

Oh, it makes it so hard for me! It's her way, 
419 



THE CONFLICT 



you know Will you go up and tell her, 

dear, that I'm almost ready to go — and that 
there isn't much more time? 
bess {crossing towards the door to the back stairway) 
Yes. What did you do with your suitcase. 
Sister? 

EMELIE 

I sent it over early this afternoon. And Bess — I 
don't want to go up to the room again — you 
might just bring my hat and coat, dear — I have 
everything else. 

{Bess runs up the back stairway ', leaving the door 
swing open behind her. Efflelie gathers up 
her writing materials, dropping the letters into 
the little satchel. One of these she stops to re- 
read; in the midst of it, with a little sob and a 
gesture of renunciation, she tears up the letter and 
drops the pieces into the fire. Coming back she 
stops and picks a pansy which she slips into the 
book on the table before she drops that into the 
satchel, too. Bess comes down the stairs carrying 
Erne lie's hat and coat) 

BESS 

She'll be down in a minute. {Then, in reply to 
the question in Emelie's face) She was up — 
looking out of the window. 

EMELIE 

What did she say? 

BESS 

Only that she thought you'd given up going. 

EMELIE {sighs) 

Good-bye, dear. 

420 



THE CONFLICT 



BESS 

You won't forget you're going to send for me? 

EMELIE 

I won't forget. 
bess {taking up basket) 

Bobs and I'll be at the siding. 

EMELIE 

And I'll be sure to lean out of the window and 
throw you kisses as far as I can see you. 
bess (tremulously) 

Good-bye. (She goes out waving her hand and is 
seen passing the window?) 

EMELIE 

Good-bye, little sister — and God keep you, dar- 
ling — as you are. (Emelie turns and sees Mother, 
who during the last speech has come down the 
stairway. She has taken down the kitchen apron 
that is hanging on nail inside of door, and is put- 
ting it on. There is a moment's embarrassed 
pause, then Emelie speaks.) Mother — I hated 
to disturb you; but I was beginning to be afraid 
you might not waken till the last minute. 
mother (placidly) 

I wasn't asleep. I thought you'd reconsidered 
going. 

EMELIE 

Mother — you make it so hard for me 

MOTHER 

I mean to make it hard — very hard. (She goes 
to the dresser and takes from it a large pan of 
apples, a knife, and a bowl. Then she draws the 
cane-seated rocker to the left of the table and pro- 
ceeds to peel the apples in long, thin, unbroken 
421 



THE CONFLICT 



curls — possibly only for the woman with a steady 
hand and no troublesome nerves?) For that mat- 
ter, IVe never said that staying right here was 
going to be the easy thing for you to do; but you 
can't get out of the fact that it's your duty, 
Emelie. (The rocker stops a moment, as though 
its occupant expected a reply; then, as there is 
none, 'it continues its placid rhythmic swing, as the 
Mother resumes her argument?) You can't al- 
ways have things the way you want them — and 
I don't think it would be good for you if you 
could. (Emelie, who has come down behind the 
table, makes a sudden sharp movement as though 
to speak, then closes her lips firmly. She picks 
up one of her gloves, examines it mechanically for 
a moment — and then goes up stage to the work 
basket, and stands there finding needle and thread, 
etc., during next speeches. Meanwhile all the 
mother s attention appears to be centered on the 
careful coring and quartering of the apple in her 
hand. She leisurely selects another before con- 
tinuing.) Now that you've got used to your 
freedom and your own way, it's asking a sacri- 
fice of you — I realize that; but you'll have to 
make lots of them before you're as old as I am. 

emelie (with a sudden lift of her head, and in a 
tone — crisp, clean-cut, that somehow shows the 
fight is on) 
It's your idea of life, isn't it, Mother? 

MOTHER 

Making sacrifices? 

EMELIE 

Yes. 

422 



THE CONFLICT 



MOTHER 

Well, it's a pretty big part of it — as you'll find 
out. 

EMELIE 

I'm a poor scholar. 

MOTHER 

When you don't like the lesson ? 

EMELIE 

Yes. For nearly twenty years I've tried to 
learn it, but — I can't do it. 

MOTHER 

How you exaggerate, Emelie. 

{There is nothing impetuous in the speech of 
these women — there is power — repose — at bottom 
both are very much alike.) 

EMELIE 

Oh, no, I don't. Stop and think. I was three 
years old when Robert was born. I was ex- 
pected to grow out of babyhood right then and 
there. And when he died — there was James to 
do for — and give in to. Do you remember what 
a naughty child I used to be? Poor little 
tempestuous mite — always being punished — 
hardly ever understanding what for 

MOTHER 

Well, you did have a bad temper. 

EMELIE 

And, of course, that had to be sacrificed! {At 
the little exclamation of surprise from her mother 
she continued hastily?) Oh, I know that must 
sound absurd to you, because you don't — per- 
haps you can't see it as I do; but all the little 
things you didn't like about me — had to be 
423 



THE CONFLICT 



lopped off, even if I was as surely maimed 
thereby as though you had cut off my arms and 
legs. Dear Mother! I know you meant every- 
thing for the best — always! You were de- 
termined I should be unselfish — well-disciplined 
— and self-controlled — cut out and fashioned 
by a pattern on your nail; weren't you? {She 
has come down right of table during this speech, 
and on the last two words, to soften the unfilial 
tone of it, reaches out and just touches her mother s 
hand.) 
mother {not hurt at all by the criticism — and equally 
untouched by the caress) 
Do you think you're any the worse for it? 

EMELIE 

Who knows? 

MOTHER 

[/ I don't think you understand, Emelie. Just 
what do you mean to complain of? 

EMELIE 

I don't mean to complain of anything, dear. 
You loved us all devotedly — no one could have 
been a better mother — if only — {She hesitates, 
then finishes whimsically.) If only you could 
have individualized us a bit, dear, instead of 
lumping us all together as just "your children." 
mother {her hands idle for a moment, she revolves 
what seemed to her an absurd arraignment; then, 
surrendering to the apparent need for justification) 
I suppose you will admit, Emelie, that you were 
a very jealous child? 

EMELIE 

Oh, undoubtedly! Frightfully so! Did you 
think you had cured me, Mother? 
424 



THE CONFLICT 



MOTHER 

I tried 

EMELIE 

On the contrary, you fed the flame — don't you 
see? You exercised the unlovely thing till it 
grew strong. I learnt jealousy as a fine art 
at the mature age of seven. It frightens me to 
think how I used to feel — how I could feel now 

if any {She catches herself up and finishes 

rather lamely — as she goes back to the sewing- 
table) anyone gave me cause. 

mother {looking back after her a moment — then 
down at her work) 

Emelie! You've never told us — me — much 
about your friends. 

emelie 

No? {She lingers a bit unnecessarily over the 
smoothing out of the gloves, but finally places them 
beside her hat and coat and comes slowly down to 
her mother s side.) What is it you would like to 
know, Mother? 

MOTHER 

Something about the way you're living now — 
the people who have helped you in your work. 
That girl you roomed with first — for instance; 
what's become of her? 

EMELIE 

I don't know. I never see her any more. 

MOTHER 

Why not? 

EMELIE 

Mother! Let's not go into that. It's a long 
story — and it would have no bearing on the 
subject we are discussing. 
425 



THE CONFLICT 



mother {mildly) 

I thought that was settled. 

emelie {her eyes flashing ominously ', but her voice 
quiet) 

Did you?_You thought that all my life to come 
was to Be narrowed within the limits of your 
"NO;" that I'd give up my plan to go to New 
York, to forego all the splendid opportunities 
this year is holding out tome, just because you 
believe my duty is here. And after all, is that 
your real reason, Mother? Isn't it rather that 
you're afraid — that you distrust your child — 
and your teaching? If not, why is it that you 
seem to resent each problem that I dare to solve 
for myself, each step I take unaided, each fresh 
proof that I'm no longer a child at your apron- 
strings? 

MOTHER 

Emelie ! 

EMELIE 

Yes, Mother, I beg your pardon. I know I'm 
going to hate myself presently for talking to you 
like this — but can't you see that I've got to fight 
you? All my life with you has been a fight — a 
fight to keep true to myself — a constant con- 
flict of wills — ideals and principles that clash and 
clash — it's terrible — terrible! Can't you see 
{She stops to get hold of herself.) 

MOTHER 

Can't I see what, Emelie? 
emelie {more gently) 

Can't you see that you can not hope to always 
have the ordering of your children's lives? We 
grow up; it is the way of children, Mother. We 
426 



THE CONFLICT 



have adult responsibilities — problems of our 
own which we have a right to face ourselves; 
and to each one of our battles we bring all that 
we have inherited from our parents — and all 
the teaching weVe got at their hands — but 
something of our own besides. And, Mother 
— {She kneels beside her.) that something is the 
God within us! Forever to do violence to that 
something is to kill the individual. Can't you — 
can't you try to understand before it's too late? 
Jim — Bess — Bobs, even, will have his future 
some day to decide for himself. 

MOTHER 

That's just why you're needed at home; you're 
the eldest. You always were more like a boy 
than a girl — Jim'll listen to you. 

EMELIE 

It took me a long time, Mother, to realize how 
exacting your love was. Do you remember 
Row^you opposed the idea of my studying in 
Boston? Why, if I had not gotten that first 
scholarship at the art school, I'd never have had 
my chance at all — and then I had to go with the 
bitter thought of your displeasure at my heart 
like a stone all summer long. 
mother {rather proudly) 

You had it in you! You'd have gotten there 
just the same — no matter where you studied — 
if a little later > perhaps. 

EMELIE 

Yes, but that's such a tragedy! The joy of bat- 
tle and achievement belongs to youth! / want 
it now! Not when Fm forty. And you know 
that if I hadn't made good — right from the very 
427 



THE CONFLICT 



start — I should have had to come home. Not 
because my people couldn't afford it — that I 
would have understood — but just because Fate 
— in your own person — said "No!" Talk about 
signs from heaven! I fairly worshiped those 
first checks. Why, fifty dollars was a fortune 
that meant room-rent for a month — yes, and 
food, too. It took so little to live in a hall bed- 
room with the aid of a twenty-five-cent gas 
stove and the delicatessen around the corner. 
mother {dryly) 

No wonder you've ruined your digestion. 

EMELIE 

Digestion depends upon the frame of mind, 
Mother. Mine was better in the hall bedroom 
than it has been here in my father's house, 
bottling up my sorrow and fighting your dis- 
pleasure. (The girl's lips quiver pitifully. The 
Mother rises y and, on her way back to the sink with 
the apples ', she stops with a half clumsy caress and 
says gently) 

MOTHER 

You're a good girl, Emelie, lots of ways. You 
mustn't think I'm always finding fault with you. 
It's strange how you've taken your father's 
death harder than any of the other children — 
though you were away from home so much — 
and never his favorite. 

EMELIE 

I guess there's no grief quite so bitter as the loss 
of someone we have loved imperfectly. Oh, it's 
all so irrevocable — and it's such a pity. Father 
— working, slaving all his life for us — unrecom- 
pensed, unappreciated. 
428 



THE CONFLICT 



MOTHER 

Why, Emelie! I think we all did our duty by 
father. 

EMELIE 

Duty? Oh, yes. Duty — weighed — measured; 
so much politeness, so much service, so much 
tolerance of individual likings — with a sort of 
affection, too, of course. We all loved Father 
— Oh, as a father, all very much according to the 
letter of the law — but did any of us ever try to 
understand him — as an individual, like our- 
selves? And now it's too late! Oh, Mother, 
dear, I do wish we could understand each other 
a little better before I go. 

mother (in the act of crossing to the range with the 
saucepan of apples) 

But I thought you'd come to see it my way — 
about going. 

emelie (with a little wail of hopeless desperation in 
her voice) 

Yes, yes, I know you did! And the pity of it is 
that you'll keep on thinking so till the whistle 
blows. We talk round and round in a circle — 
and my train will be here in fifteen minutes. 
Couldn't you just give in once — kiss me good- 
bye and wish me success? It takes lots of 
strength to travel the hard, lonely road in a 
strange city. 

(The Mother is through with her work. NOW 
they will have it out. She turns her back definitely 
upon the range, and for the first time speaks di- 
rectly to the girl. All through the preceding scene 
she has made you feel that Emelie and her problem 
429 



THE CONFLICT 



must take second place to this dish of apple sauce > 
the duty of the moment.) 

MOTHER 

That's another thing I don't understand. You 
might as well be frank with me, Emelie. I've 
never liked secrecy — and you re mighty close 
about your affairs. You were perfectly content 
with Boston when you came here a month ago. 
What's changed you — why, this sudden notion 
for going to New York, instead? 
emelie (half-heartedly) 

We'll all need more money now that Father's 
gone — and Jim's not making much yet. I think 
I can earn more in New York. 

MOTHER 

And spend more, too. A year ago you were de- 
lighted with your place.. 

EMELIE 

That was a year ago. Now, the drawing of in- 
sipid faces and faultless figures in absurd gowns 
seems intolerable — because I've grown and my 
work has grown. Fashion-work was just a 
means to keep me in food and lodging while I 
studied. 

MOTHER 

Suppose you don't get anything to do — what 
then ? 

EMELIE 

I'm pretty sure to fall into something. If I fail, 
there's always the fashion-work to fall back on. 
But I have offers — good ones. 

MOTHER 

Who from? 

430 



THE CONFLICT 



EMELIE 

Friends who have faith in me. 

MOTHER 

That's another thing I don't like. You never 
talk about your friends. 'Tain't natural — un- 
less you re ashamed of them. 

EMELIE 

Mother! 

MOTHER 

L/I don't care — it doesn't look right. You've had 
letters and sent some every day — even the day 
of the funeral — but I notice how careful you 
were not to let them lie around none. lS 

emelie {looks nervously around the room — her eyes 
light on the clock) 

Mother, we're wasting time. You've known all 
along that I couldn't stay on here indefinitely. 

MOTHER 

I can't see why not. Why is one place any better 
than another to make pictures in? The boys are 
away all day. You needn't be afraid I'd expect 
much housework of you. 
emelie (looks at her mother in silence for a moment. 
There grows in her face a determination to force 
the issue, yet she reads the unspoken trouble at her 
mother s heart and her sense of justice counsels her 
to be very patient under the probe) 
Mother, suppose we quit fencing like this — get 
down to facts. Just why are you so determined 
to keep me here? 

MOTHER 

I don't trust you, Emelie, and that's the truth. 
You are changed somehow. You're older and 
more world-wise — and nervous — and there's 

28 43 ! 



THE CONFLICT 



something going on that you don't tell me. You 
never were one to talk much, but you don't 
give me your confidence at all, now. 

EMELIE 

And you think you can force it? Have I ever 
given you any real cause for not trusting me? 
mother {reluctantly) 
Not as I know of. 

EMELIE 

Am I necessarily guilty of something unless I 
continually prove myself innocent? 

MOTHER 

I don't like it. You're not frank with me. 

EMELIE 

I'm all right, Mother. Oh, why should 1 worry 
you with my problems? I can't do it — though 
I love you, dear. {She flings her arms impulsively 
around her mother s neck; but the whole unyielding 
figure is so prohibitive ', so keenly censorious ', that 
the next moment her hands fall limply to her side) 
Well — what is it you want to know, Mother? 
mother {grasping at the permission, without no- 
ticing what she pays for it) 

This man you've been getting letters from — 
who is he? 

EMELIE 

A gentleman I met through my work, Mother. 
He's been very good to me — in a business way — 

MOTHER 

Yes, but it don't look like just business to be 
writing letters back and forth every day 

EMELIE 

Then it would be safe to conclude that there was 
more than just business between us. 
432 



THE CONFLICT 



MOTHER 

What's his name? 
emelie {flinching) 
Is that necessary? 

MOTHER 

Are you ashamed of him ? 

EMELIE 

No. 
mother (after a dissatisfied pause) 
What's he do? 

EMELIE 

He's — he's on a magazine, Mother — what they 
call "Managing Editor." 

MOTHER 

That how you came to meet him? 

EMELIE 

Yes. I illustrated some articles for him. 
mother (not looking at her) 

Known him long — do you see much of him ? 

EMELIE 

About a year. Yes, I see quite a great deal of 
him. (The girFs steady eyes have never wavered 
from her mother s face. There is a cold, bitter 
little smile about her lips. She could quicker un- 
derstand a storm of passionate, anxious scolding 
than this inquisitorial skirmishing that keeps 
getting closer and closer to the vital question, but 
that dreads to ask it.) 

MOTHER 

I suppose he takes you out — sometimes? 

EMELIE 

Frequently. 

MOTHER 

You go — alone — with him? 
433 



THE CONFLICT 



EMELIE 

Usually. 

MOTHER 

Of course — he's single? 

EMELIE 

No,,.. 

MOTHER 

What! 
emelie (stiffening against the table — her nervous 
hands fingering the edge of the cloth, her coat, her 
gloves) 

He's married. I don't think I am hurting his 
wife. She does not care. 

mother (indignantly) 
How do you know ? 

EMELIE 

They have not lived together for years; she's 
abroad most of the time. 

mother (speaking the word as though it were sacri- 
lege) 
Divorced ? 

EMELIE 

No — there's a child — a girl, just reaching wo- 
manhood. For her sake — well, they've never 
just happened to 

MOTHER 

And you run around with him like this — you ? I 
want to know — he says he loves you? 
emelie (laughing shortly) 
Yes. 

MOTHER 

And you? 

434 



THE CONFLICT 



EMELIE 

I love him — yes. {The last speeches have been 
spoken almost flippantly. Her attitude during the 
earlier part of the scene has been that of a child 
whistling in the dark. Now that her secret has 
been dragged boldly, nakedly into the daylight, her 
attitude becomes one of impregnable, hurt defiance. 
In her anxiety the mother is blind.) 

MOTHER 

I can't grasp it! IVe felt there was something 
like this in the wind all along — yet I couldn't 
believe it of you, Emelie. Mind you, I'm not 
saying you've done anything really bad *' 

EMELIE 

Thank you. {There is a flash of gratitude in her 
face, but it fades into bitterness as her mother quite 
unconsciously spoils it.) 

MOTHER 

l/You've had too good training for that — but I didn't 
think you'd cheapen yourself so. How_caj 
believe this man 

EMELIE 

Because belief is the very life of love — some- 
thing you've never learnt, Mother. You kill 
love by doubting it. 

MOTHER 

Can't very well believe in a married man who 
makes love 

EMELIE 

Mother! Might I suggest that you do not know 
either the man or the circumstances? 
mother {very emphatically) 

There aren't any circumstances that can make 
wrong right. 

435 



THE CONFLICT 



EMELIE 

Oh! {Pause.) Very well. Then, since you've 
judged me, what do you propose to do? 

MOTHER 

I am trying to think. You want to go to New 
York. Why? 

EMELIE 

I told you 

MOTHER 

You didn't! You told me a lot of nonsense. 
You never gave me the real reason. 

EMELIE 

Which is 

MOTHER 

This man ! He lives in New York — or he's going 
to live there. Ain't that why you want to go? 

{The girl looks at her mother incredulously — her 
whole attitude one of helpless aloofness. It is as 
though she looked across an ever-widening gulf at 
the dead.) 

emelie {with a gesture of hopelessness) 
Well 

MOTHER 

Do you think I can't put two and two together? 
Those big envelopes you got from New York 
yesterday and again today — and you walking 
about like one in a dream! He's on ar magazine r 
you say — and look at you — so sure of getting 
work in a strange city. Well, why don't you 
speak? Isn't it so? 

EMELIE 

What's the use of speaking? You can't expect 
to extract truth with a probe — and get it out 
436 



THE CONFLICT 



undamaged. You have chosen to put your own 
construction on appearances — go on! I'm anx- 
ious to see what you're going to make of it. Just 
what you will do to my life. 

(The train is heard whistling in the distanced) 

MOTHER 

You shall not go to New York tonight. 

EMELIE 

No? Well, that looks exceedingly probable. I 
should have to run now to catch the train. Yet 
I could make itfKQuick, Mother! I know all 
that's worrying you. But of what good was 
your training if you can't trust me? I've made 
my choice — I want to abide by it. Just say 
that I may. 

MOTHER 

\J You see! Why are you so set on going by this 
very train if it isn't an appointment? If you are 
so determined on leaving home to-night it will 
have to be for Boston. You're playing on the 
brink of a precipice — and you don't know it! 

EMELIE 

Take care, Mother, that you don't push me 
over — 

MOTHER 

Oh, yes — I know you're stubborn — but after 
all, you're my child! Maybe when you've had a 
night to think 

(The unwonted stimulus of opposition has aroused 
the Mother quite out of her quiet calm. All 
the majesty of outraged motherhood is in her 
bearing as she sweeps to the outer door and 
locks it. After the first little cry of "Mother, 
437 



THE CONFLICT 



don't do that!" the girl makes no protest. List- 
lessly she goes to the sink; as in a dream she 
washes her hands and dries them on the roller- 
towel^ and at the little mirror studies her face cu- 
riously while she fastens on her hat. While she is 
doing this the smoke of the New York train dark- 
ens the window. The girl parts the curtains and 
stands watching. You hear the grinding of brakes, 
the hissing of escaping air, the momentary por- 
tentous silence, the clang of the bell, the exhaust — 
and then the throbbing of the departing south- 
bound train. The girl slips into her coat and picks 
up her bag as the mother moves stolidly over to the 
door and throws it open. Once more a shaft of sun- 
light — a long, pale one this time— falls across Jhe 
threshold, and the birds break out into a joyous 
twittering. The girl joins her mother in the door- 
way, and for a moment they stand there in silence, 1 
so incongruously out of it all— all that the spring/ 
would tell them if they could but hear?) 

EMELIE 

Well, Mother — good-bye. 

MOTHER 

T suppose you'll have to go now. You wouldn't 
care to stay till morning? 

EMELIE 

Hardly. 
mother {flustered by the girl's steady eyes, takes 
refuge in a commonplace) 

I'd a thought you'd have more pride, Emelie. 
I had when I was your age. You'll write? 

EMELIE 

I don't know — it depends. 
438 



THE CONFLICT 



MOTHER 

On what? 

EMELIE 

I can't see the outcome of this, Mother. But, 
whatever happens, I want you to feel that I'll 
not hold you 'responsible for my decisions. 

MOTHER 

Emelie ! 

EMELIE 

FunnyJ__ You believe in predestination — don't 
you, Mother? I never did — before. I never 
could see Fate as a cat playing with a mouse — 
I never believed that God played with us in 
wanton sport, but what's the difference if he lets 
His creatures do it for Him? 

MOTHER 

You mustn't talk like that — I don't understand. 

EMELIE 

I hope you never will. 
mother {drawing her quickly to her in alarm) 
Emelie ! 

EMELIE 

Oh, don't! Please don't! {In a sudden burst of 
anger she tears herself brusquely out of her mother s 
arms.) You've faith in no one but yourself! 
Well, you can sleep tonight very sure of how 
beautifully you've managed everyone's life. 
{Train whistles.) Let me go! I don't want to 
miss my train. {Emelie goes quickly out of the 
door and down the walk without a backward look.) 
mother {making a movement after her) 

Emelie! What a way for a girl to speak to her 
mother! {Muttering to herself.) Well, she 
439 



THE CONFLICT 



needn't feel so bitter about it. I'm sure I did it 
all for her own good. But that's the way with 
children. {Coming down.) They never under- 
stand — till it's too late. She's forgot her flowers. 
Well, it's too late for them, too. I wonder what 
she meant by 

(Bess is heard calling from right, "Emelie!" 
Oh, Emelie! Where are you?" She runs 
excitedly in at the door down right, and takes 
in her mother s appearance with an evident 
start of dismay. Train is heard stopping.) 

BESS 

Why, Mother! Where's Emelie? Didn't she 
go? We waited for her at the siding. I'm sure 
she wasn't on the train, for it stopped an awful 
long time there. We ran all the way back. I 
came cross-lots and through the front because 

Bob got a 

bob (who has run around the house is seen passing 
window and runs in at kitchen door) 
Didn't she go? 

(Train is heard going rapidly in distance?) 

mother (after a pause) 
Yes — she went. 

BESS 

To New York? 

MOTHER 

No — to Boston 

BESS 

Oh! I wonder what made her change her mind. 

BOB 

Shucks! And I found this telegram for her at 
440 



THE CONFLICT 



the post-office, too! That chump of a green 
kid of Sweeny's put it in our mail box. 

MOTHER 

A telegram? 

BOB 

Yes; do you suppose it's anything important? 

MOTHER 

Give it to me. I'll see. {She opens it — reads — 
looks stunned. Still clutching the envelope, in a 
dazed sort of way she drops the telegram, and 
crosses unsteadily towards the door, left.) Emelie! 
My girl! Oh, why didn't you tell me? Why 
didn't you tell me? {She goes heavily, brokenly 
up the stairs, muttering.) I — I didn't under- 
stand her — she said Oh, my God — my 

God! What have I done? 

BOB 

Why, whatever's the matter with Mother? 
What's in the thing, anyway? {Picks up tele- 
gram.) That's funny — I don't see anything in 



this- 
bess {faintly) 

What's — it say, Bobs? 



BOB 



Why, all it says is — "You can't mean to go out 
of my life like this. Think how I need you. 
I shall be waiting at South Station for you to- 
night, with what anxiety you can imagine. 
Don't fail me. Devotedly Craig." Who's 
Craig? Do you know? Well, anyway, it's from 
Boston. I don't see anything the matter with 
that. She'll meet him O. K. since she got that 
train. {Goes to stairway.) Oh, Mother! It's 
441 



THE CONFLICT 



all right! That telegram was from Boston, you 
know. {Waits a moment; then starts up the 
stairs.) Say, Mother! What's the matter? 
Ain't you goin* to have any supper? 
bess {staring down at the forgotten flowers, and 
speaking in a low, frightened voice) 
She — didn't take — my lilacs. 

CURTAIN 



442 



TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING 

A MORAL INTERLUDE 

by Edna St. Vincent Millay 



PERSONS 

The King 
Chance, The Vice 
Tidy, The False Slattern 
Slut, The True Slattern 

The Prologue and the Epilogue are spoken by Chance. 

Two Slatterns and a King was first produced at 
Vassar College. 



Copyright, 192 1, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

No amateur or professional use permitted of Two Slatterns 

and a King without written authorization first obtained from 

Stewart Kidd Company, 121 East Fifth Street, Cincinnati, O., to 

whom all applications should be addressed. 



Two Slatterns and a King 



PROLOGUE 

I am that cunning infidel 

By men called CHANCE, — you know me well. 

It is through me you met your wives ; 

Through me your harvest blights or thrives; 

And one and all, through me, to-day 

Hither you came to see the play, 

Which if your favor still you lend, 

As now, so on until the end, 

You shall be taught what way a King 

Though a sublime and awful thing 

And even wise, may come to be 

A laughing-stock, — and all through me ! 

(Exit) 
(enter king) 

KING 

I am the King of all this land: 
I hold a sceptre in my hand; 
Upon my head I wear a crown; 
Everybody stands when I sit down. (Sits) 

chance (Appearing to audience; he is invisible 
throughout the play to the other players in it.) 
Excepting me, — please bear in mind 
I sit whenever I feel inclined. (Sits) 

KING 

Although my lands are wide and long, 
My walls right thick, my armies strong, 
I am not wholly satisfied. 

445 



TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING 

CHANCE 

That is because you have no bride. 
KING 

Who speaks ? — Come forth and, if you dare, 
Say once again what causes my care ! 
Why I am discontent with life ! 

CHANCE 

It is because you have no wife. 

KING 

A woman in my royal house ! 

A woman ! A wife ! A bride ! A spouse 1 

Bold stranger, this is not the cure, 

For a woman I could never endure ! 

CHANCE 

Per-CHANCE to-morrow you will find 
You have altered your imperial mind. 
(Exeunt king and chance severally) 

(enter tidy) 

TIDY 

I am TIDY, I have been 

All my life both neat and clean. 

From my outside to my in 

Clean am I unto my skin. 

Every day into a bucket 

My hands I dip, my head I duck it; 

And if the water plenty be 

I sometimes wet some more of me. 

This is my kitchen, where you will find 

All things pleasant and to your mind ; 

Against the wall in orderly pairs — 

One, two, — one, two, — observe my chairs. 

446 



TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING 

In the middle of the room my table stands : 
I would not move it for many lands. 
My basins and bowls are all in their places; 
The bottoms of my pots are as clean as your 

faces. 
My kettle boils so cheerily, 
It is like a friendly voice to me ; 
About my work I merrily sing, 
And I brush my hearth with a white duck's wing. 
Oh, full is every cupboard, sharp is every 

knife ! — 
My bright, sunny kitchen is the pride of my life ! 

(Exit tidy) 



(enter slut) 

SLUT 

I am SLUT ; I am a slattern, 

You must not take me for your pattern. 

I spend my days in slovenly ease; 

I sleep when I like and I wake when I please. 

My manners, they are indolent; 

In clutter and filth I am quite content. 

Here is my kitchen, where I stir up my messes, 

And wear out my old shoes and soiled silk 

dresses. 
My table sags beneath the weight 
Of stale food and unwashed plate ; 
The cat has tipped the pitcher o'er, — 
The greasy stream drips onto the floor; 
Under the table is a broken cup — 
I am too tired to pick it up. 

(Exit slut) 
447 



TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING 
(enter king) 

KING 

Now I will no longer tarry 
For I think that I will marry. 
Now the one thing in my life 
Is to marry me a wife. 
But I will not be content 
With a wench that's indolent, 
Or take a slattern for a spouse, — 
I will go from house to house, 
Unheralded — that there may be 
No cleaning up because of me — 
And that maid whose kitchen's neatest 
Will I have to be my sweetest. 

(Exit king) 
(chance appears) 1 

CHANCE 

That I am absent do not fear 

For that you have not seen me here, 

For know, I oft invisibly 

Do move among the things you see ; 

And to confuse and thwart the King 

Through Slut and Tidy, is a thing 

Dear to my nature, — therefore heed, 

And you shall see a show indeed ! 

(Exit chance) 
(Enter tidy in great disorder) 

TIDY 

Oh, dear, oh, dear, what shall I do ? 
Oh, such a plight I never knew ! 
Though I arose as is my way 
An hour before the break of day, 

448 



TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING 

Here it is noon, and nothing done ; 

The milk has soured in the sun, 

And the sweet, pretty duck I broiled 

A neighbor's dog has dragged and spoiled; 

I beat him with my hands and wept ! 

Straight through the window then he leapt, 

And through the window after him, 

With scratched face and bruised limb, 

And on through mire and briar and bog 

Hours and hours 1 chased that dog, 

Stumbling, uttering awful cries — 

While into my kitchen swarmed the flies ! 

I came back at half-past ten! 

Oh, what a sight did greet me then ! 

My fair white sheets I hung so fine 

Down in the black muck under the line ! 

And out of the oven from cakes V pies 'n' 

Beautiful tarts the thick smoke risin' ! 

I knelt down my tarts to remove, 

And my quince jelly that stood on the stove 

Up did boil, and, as you see, 

Boiled itself all over me ! — 

All over the floor, all over the room, — 

Whereat I ran to fetch the broom — 

The broom ! The broom — instead of the mop ! 

To fetch a broom to wipe up slop ! 

And with its handle smashed the clock's face, 

Getting glass all over the place, 

And knocked the dishes off the shelf, 

And fell to my knees and cut myself, 

And wept and cried and when I would rise 

Could not see for the tears in my eyes; 

So tripped on a chair and, to save a fall, 

Caught at the table, then flat did sprawl, 

449 



TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING 

Dragging the table down with me, 

And everything on it, as well you may see ! 

I cannot live in such a state ! 

But where to begin is past my pate ! 

{Enter king) 
KING 

I am the King of all these lands : 
Down upon your knees and hands. 
Wishing to marry me, I have said 
That the tidiest maiden I would wed 
In all my realm, wherefore I go 
From kitchen to kitchen, that I may know 
And judge for myself what maid is worth 
To sit at my side in feasting and in mirth. 
Untidy Spill-time, it is easy to see 
That my fair bride you never will be. 

TIDY 

Oh, great King, hear me when I say 
This has been a most unusual day ! 
It is by chance alone you see 
In such a state my kitchen and me ! 
I can set us both to rights in a minute ! 

KING 

In vain ! I have set a trap and caught you in it 
Vain, wench, your lies and your pretense ! 
I see what I see and I hie me hence ! 
{Exit king) 
(Exit tidy, weeping) 

(enter slut) 

SLUT 

Lest you know me not in this disguise 

I tell you I am SLUT, and I tell you no lies. 

450 



TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING 

My face and my hands are clean and neat; 

Fresh is my frock, trim are my feet. 

But I assure you you are not wrong 

To think that so tidy I shall not be for long. 

And if the story you wish from me, 

I will tell you how this came to be : 

Dull was the day and tedious my book; 

I saw no pleasure wherever I might look; 

I had done everything that I knew how to do, 

And I could think of nothing new. 

But at last I thought of one 

Thing that I had never done. 

And I said, "I will take a broom, 

And I will sweep this room! 

I will wash this floor !" 

I had never washed it before — 

"All things in order will I arrange, 

Although I hate order, for it will be a change." 

So here I am, as you can see — 

I and my kitchen as clean as can be. 

But in a room as clean as this 

My bones ache and I find no bliss. 

So watch, and soon it will appear 

Much less orderly and drear. 

{Enter king) 
king 

Down upon your knees and hands ! 

I am the King of all these lands. 

Wishing to marry me, I have said 

That the tidiest maiden I would wed 

In all my realms, wherefore I go 

From kitchen to kitchen that I may know — 

Yet stay ! This kitchen is so tidy, 

I think that you must be my bridey ! 

45 1 



TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING 

As far and wide as I have been 
So neat a kitchen I have not seen; 
Therefore I say you are my wife, 
For the remainder of your life. 

SLUT (aside) 

To point him out his error at first I intended, 
But least said is soonest mended. 

{Exit king with slut) 
(Enter tidy) 

TIDY 

Now once again with me 

All is as it is wont to be. 

Now once again you see me stand 

The tidiest lady in the land. 

If the King should see me now 

He would tell a different tale, I trow. 

(Enter king) 

KING 

Oh, lovely lady, who are you, 
That I am a talking to ? 

TIDY 

She am I whom you did scorn 
This very day at morn. 

KING 

It may not be as you have said, 
For you would I gladly wed ! 

TIDY 

I thank you for the favor, but 

They tell me you have married slut! 

45 2 



TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING 

KING 

Oh, cock's bones ! And strike me dead ! 
Is it a Slut that I have wed? 

(Enter slut dressed as at first) 

SLUT 

So here you dally whilst I sit at home ! 
Never any more abroad shall you roam, 
But sit at home with me for the rest of your life, 
For I am your lawful wedded wife ! 

KING 

Oh, woe is me, what a life will be mine ! 

SLUT 

It is too late now to repine : 

Home with me you come for the rest of your 

life, 
For SLUT is your lawful wedded wife ! 

(Exit slut with king) 

TIDY 

A slattern is a fearful sight, — ah, me ! 
What pleasure it gives so tidy to be ! 

(Exit tidy) 

EPILOGUE 

Now that the play is at an end, 
By chance you have enjoyed it, friend; 
By chance to you his sweet was gall; 
By chance you slumbered through it all. 
Howe'er it be, it was by chance 
The king was led so merry a dance, 
By chance that tidy met disgrace, 
By chance alone slut washed her face; 

453 



TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING 

From morn to eve the whole day long 

It was by chance that things went wrong. 

Wherefore, good friends, t' escape derision, 

Be not o'er hasty in your decision, 

For he who heedeth not this rule 

BY CHANCE HE WILL BE CALLED A FOOL I 



454 



THURSDAY EVENING 

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 

by Christopher Morley 



Thursday Evening was first produced by the Stockbridge 

Stocks, New York City, in November, 1921, 

with the following cast: 

Gordon Johns, a Young Business Man, Hubert Teitman 
Laura, Mrs. Gordon Johns, Eleanor Coates Teitman 
Mrs. Sheffield, Laura s Mother, Rachel Lyman Field 
Mrs. Johns, Gordon's Mother, Lysle Clark 



Copyright, 1922 by CHRISTOPHER MORLEY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

All stage rights, professional and amateur, reserved by the author, 

and will be strictly protected. Application to produce or reprint 

this play must be made to the author, in care of the publishers, 

Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. 



THURSDAY EVENING 

SCENE 

A small suburban kitchen in the modest home of 
Mr. and Mrs. Gordon Johns. A meal has re- 
cently been cooked, as is shown by a general con- 
fusion of pots and pans and dish-cloths. At the 
rear, an icebox standing in the corner. Rear, 
center, two shelved cabinets, one containing grocer- 
ies and household sundries, the other dishes and 
glassware. Rear, L, an oil range. Some baby 
linen and very small shirts {such as would be suit- 
able for a child of about ten months) are hanging 
on a clothes-horse near the stove. Door R leads 
out to back porch; there are two windows in R 
wall, one each side of door. Door L to dining- 
room. At the corner in the rear, L, door opening 
on back stairs, which ascend to upper parts of the 
house. Down stage, L, against side wall, a sink 
and oil-cloth covered drain-board or shelf beside 
it. In the center of stage a small table covered with 
oil-cloth. A kitchen chair in corner, down R. 

When the scene opens, GORDON and LAURA 

are carrying in soiled dishes through door, L. 
They come in and out several times, making me- 
thodical arrangements for cleaning up. They 
pile the dishes on the. shelf by the sink. Gordon 
takes dishpan from a hook under the sink, and 
fills it with hot water from the kettle on the stove. 
LAURA, who is an attractive little person, aged 
about twenty-three, is in that slightly tense con- 
457 



THURSDAY EVENING 



dition of a young hostess who has had a long and 
trying day with house and baby, and has also 
cooked and served a dinner for four. 

GORDON 

All right, Creature, just wait till I light my pipe 
and we'll polish this up. {Lights pipe and rolls 
up shirtsleeves.) 
laura {taking an apron from chair in corner) 
Put this on first. That's the only decent pair 
of trousers you've got. 
{Enter Mrs. Sheffield, carrying dishes.) 

MRS. SHEFF 

Now you children run along and take it easy. 
I'll do all this. 

LAURA 

No, no, mother. You go and talk to Mrs. Johns. 
{Pointedly.) Don't let her come in here. 
mrs. sheff {ultramaternally) 

Poor baby, she's tired. You've been on your 
feet all day, now let Mother wash up for you. 
That was a big dinner to cook. 

LAURA 

No tireder than you are, Mother darling. You 
cooked lunch. 

GORDON 

Both of you clear out; I can get this done in no 
time. 
mrs. sheff {patting Laura s cheek) 

Busy with the baby all afternoon, and then 
cooking such a delicious dinner — Dearie, 
won't you let Mother do this for you? 

458 



THURSDAY EVENING 



LAURA 

There isn't room in this kitchen for everybody — 
{Enter Mrs. Johns, carrying dishes.) 

MRS. JOHNS 

Gordon, you and Laura go and rest. Let the 
two grandmothers — 

GORDON 

Now listen, little people, this is my job. I al- 
ways wash up on Thursday evenings — 

MRS. JOHNS 

You go and read your newspaper. I can see 

you're all fagged out after that long day in the 

office — 
mrs. sheff {to Laura) 

Please go and lie down, Baby. You're so tired. 
laura {with waning patience) 

You two go and amuse yourselves; Gordon and 

I'll attend to this. {They gently eject the two 

mothers-in-law.) 

GORDON 

Come on, now, the good old system ! {He takes 
the small table from center of stage, and puts it 
carefully midway between sink and dish cabinet. 
Takes chair from corner, down R, and sets it beside 
table. Laura sits down on chair and wipes silver- 
ware and dishes as he hands them to her after 
washing.) 

LAURA 

The silver first, while the water's clean. 

GORDON 

Right. We make a pretty good team at this, 
don't we? 

459 



THURSDAY EVENING 



laura {holds up a small silver jug) 

That darling old cream jug. Mother used that 
when she was a little girl. 

GORDON 

I love our little Thursday evening suppers. I 
think they're more fun than any other night. 

LAURA 

I'm glad, Gordie. 

GORDON 

We get better grub on Thursdays, when Ethel 
goes out, than we ever do when she's in. 

LAURA 

I tried to have everything specially nice to- 
night. Some visitors are very critical. 

GORDON 

It was lovely. I'm afraid it was hard for you, 
Creature, to have Mother come just now. {A 
short paused) Especially when your Mother was 
here. 

LAURA 

Didn't she know Mother was here? 

GORDON 

No. I hadn't told her. You see your Mother is 
here so much more often. I didn't know your 
mother would still be here. I was afraid Mother 
might be a little hurt — 

LAURA 

Mother helps me a great deal. I think it's a 
queer thing if a wife can't have her mother stay 
with her once in a while — 
Gordon {aware of danger ■, changes the subject) 
Ye Gods, Ethel has cracked the Copenhagen 
460 



THURSDAY EVENING 



platter. {Laura is silent.) That's one of the 
set Mother gave us when we were married. 

LAURA 

It's a stock pattern. You can get another at 
any department store. 

GORDON 

I'll bet that coon didn't empty the icebox pan 
before she went. I never saw a cook yet who 
could remember to do that — 

LAURA 

If you had to go out and hunt for them you 
wouldn't be so particular. She's better than 
no one. 
Gordon {goes to icebox and removes a large, brim- 
ming pan from under it) 

What did I tell you! {The water slops over from 
pan as he carries it gingerly to sink and empties it. 
He replaces the pan under icebox.) 

LAURA 

You'd better heat some more water. You've 
poured that ice-water into the dishpan. 
Gordon {getting a little peevish; refills kettle and puts 
it on stove) 

It's perfectly absurd not having any pantry to 
keep the icebox in. In here, the heat of the 
stove melts the ice right away. {Goes back to 
icebox and slams its doors shut.) Of course, she 
never keeps the doors properly closed. {He re- 
turns to sink and resumes dishwashing.) It's a 
funny thing. 

LAURA 

What is? 

461 



THURSDAY EVENING 



GORDON 

Why, that a presumably intelligent coon can't 
understand the doors of an icebox are meant to 
be kept tight shut, to save ice. What does she 
suppose those little clamps are for? {Laura is 
silent. There is a pause, while Gordon scrapes 
portions of food of the soiled plates. He examines 
some of these plates rather carefully, and picks out 
several large pieces of meat, lettuce, butter, etc., 
which he puts on one plate at one side. Then he 
seems to resume his good humor and relights his 
pipe.) Well, it's jolly to have both the grand- 
mothers here together, isn't it? 

LAURA 

Gordon, dear, put the silver away in the side- 
board before it gets wet again. {He gathers up 
silver from the table in front of hen and exit L. 
Laura steps outside door R, and returns, bringing 
garbage can, which she puts down by the sink. She 
begins to wash dishes, and sees the plate of odds 
and> ends which Gordon has carefully put to one 
side. She scrapes its contents into the garbage 
pail. While she is washing, Gordon enter, L.) 

GORDON 

Now, Creature, let me do that. You don't want 
to spoil those pretty. hands. {Takes them, with 
an attempt to be affectionate.) 

LAURA 

I guess it isn't any worse for them than washing 
the baby's things. 

GORDON 

Come on, old man, let me. {Gently removes her 
462 



THURSDAY EVENING 



from sink, and pushes her to the chair by the table. 
She sits down and wipes dishes as he hands them 
to her.) It doesn't take long when there are two 
of us. 

LAURA 

Gordie, these dishes aren't properly clean. You 
can't get that grease off without hot water. 

GORDON 

I guess that kettle's hot by now. {To stove, feels 
water in kettle.) Give it a minute longer. 
{Stands by stove and puffs at his pipe. In a mo- 
ment of false security, he foolishly reopens a dan- 
gerous topic.) You know, I'm a little worried 
about Mother. 
laura {putting away dishes) 
Why? 

GORDON 

I don't think she's as well as usual. She hardly 
ate any of her salad. 
laura {turns as though about to say something, but 
checks herself and pauses a moment. This time 
it is she who tries honorably to avert the gathering 
storm) 

Oh, Gordie, I forgot to tell you! Junior drank 
out of a cup to-day — the first time! 

GORDON 

He did! The little rascal! 

LAURA 

Look, here's the cup. {Shows a small silver cup.) 
Gordon {affectionately, putting his arm around her) 
Well, well. {Looks at cup.) What cup is that? 
I don't seem to remember it — 
463 



THURSDAY EVENING 



LAURA 

Why — Mother brought it with her. She used 
it when she was a baby. 

GORDON 

Where's that nice old Christening mug of 
mine? I think Junior would like to use that 
once in a while, too. 

LAURA 

I put it away, dear. I was afraid Ethel might 
dent it. 
Gordon {takes kettle from stove, goes hack to sink) 
I hope Mother isn't feeling poorly. I noticed 
at supper — 

LAURA 

When hot meat is served, refined people usually 
call it dinner — 

Gordon {looks at her cautiously, and suddenly seems 
to realize that they are on the edge of an abyss) 
Now, honey, you're tired. You go and rest, 
I'll finish up here. 

LAURA 

No, thank you. I like to see that everything 
gets cleaned up properly. Someone might come 
snooping out here, and then there'd be hints 
about my housekeeping. Of course, I'll admit 
I wasn't brought up to be a cook — 
Gordon {seeks inspiration by relighting his pipe, 
and takes up a handsome silver coffee pot) 
One thing I never can make out is, how to pre- 
vent coffee grounds from going down the sink. 
(He talks desperately, trying to tide over the mutu- 
ally realized danger point?) Perhaps if I could 
464 



THURSDAY EVENING 



invent some kind of a little coffee-ground 
strainer I'd make our fortune. That coffee was 
delicious, Creature. 

LAURA 

Take care of that urn, it's one of the few hand- 
some things we have. 

GORDON 

It is a beauty. 

LAURA 

Jack Davis gave it to me — 
Gordon (puts it down with distaste) 

I guess I'd better attend to the garbage. 
laura (nervously) 

It's all fixed. 

GORDON 

I always like Thursdays because that's the one 
evening Ethel doesn't get a chance to throw 
away about five dollars' worth of good food. 

LAURA 

I fixed the garbage. You can put the pail out- 
side. 

Gordon (hunting among plates on the shelf beside 
sink) 

Where's that plate I put here? There was a lot 
of perfectly good stuff I saved — 

laura (blows up at last) 

Well, if you think I'm going to keep a lot of half- 
eaten salad your Mother picked over — 

Gordon (seizes garbage pail, lifts it up to the sink 
and begins to explore its contents. His fuse also 
is rapidly shortening.) 

My Lord, it's no wonder we never have any 
465 



THURSDAY EVENING 



money to spend if we chuck half of it away in 
waste. {Picking out various selections.) Waste! 
Look at that piece of cheese, and those potatoes. 
You could take those things, and some of this 
meat, and make a nice economical hash for 
lunch — 

LAURA 

It's a wonder you wouldn't get a job as a scav- 
enger. I never heard of a husband like you, 
rummaging through the garbage pail. 

GORDON {bloWS Up) 

Do you know what the one unforgivable sin is? 
The sin against the Holy Ghost? It's Waste! 
It makes me wild to think of working and work- 
ing like a dog, and half of what I earn just 
thrown away by an ignorant coon. Look at 
this, just look at it! {Displays a grisly object.) 
There's enough meat on that bone to make 
soup. And ye gods, here's that jar of anchovy 
paste! {Holds it up.) I thought you got that 
for me as a little treat. I wondered where it 
had gone to. Why, I hadn't eaten more than 
just the top of it. 

LAURA 

Well, you left it, and left it, and it got mildewed. 

GORDON 

Scrape it off. A little mildew won't hurt any- 
body. There'll be mildew on my bank account 
if this kind of thing goes on. {Still examining 
garbage pail.) Look here, about half a dozen 
slices of bread. What's the matter with them, 
I'd like to know. 

466 



THURSDAY EVENING 



LAURA 

I think it's the most disgusting thing I ever 
heard of. To go picking over the garbage pail 
like that. You attend to your affairs and I'll 
attend to mine. 

GORDON 

I guess throwing away good, hard-earned money 

is my affair, isn't it? 

LAURA 

You're always quick enough to find fault. I 
know Ethel's careless, but she's the best I can 
get out here in this godforsaken suburb. Maybe 
you'll be good enough to find me a better serv- 
ant. A well-trained girl wouldn't work in this 
old dump, where there isn't even gas. You 
don't seem to know when you're lucky. You 
come back at night and find your home well 
cared for and me slaving over a hot dinner, and 
do you ever say a word of thanks? No, all you 
can think of is finding fault. I can't imagine 
how you were brought up. Your Mother — 

GORDON 

Just leave my mother out of it. I guess she 
didn't spoil me the way yours did you. Of 
course, I wasn't an only daughter — 

LAURA 

I wish you had been. Then I wouldn't have 
married you. 

GORDON 

I suppose you think that if you'd married Jack 
Davis or some other of those profiteers you'd 
never have had to see the inside of a kitchen — 
467 



THURSDAY EVENING 



LAURA 

If Junior grows up with your disposition, all I 
can say is, I hope he'll never get married. 

GORDON 

If he gets married, I hope it'll be to some girl 
who understands something about economy — 

LAURA 

If he gets married, I hope he'll be man enough 
not to be always finding fault — 

GORDON 

Well, he wont get married! I'll put him wise to 
what marriage means, fussing like this all the 
time — 

LAURA 

Yes, he will get married. He shall get married! 

GORDON 

Oh, this is too absurd — 

LAURA 

He shall get married, just to be a humiliating 
example to his father. I'll bring him up the way 
a husband ought to be. 

GORDON 

In handcuffs, I suppose — 

LAURA 

And his wife won't have to sit and listen to per- 
petual criticism from his mother — 

GORDON 

If you're so down on mothers-in-law, it's queer 
you're anxious to be one yourself. The ex- 
pectant mother-in-law! 

LAURA 

All right, be vulgar. I dare say you can't help it. 
468 



THURSDAY EVENING 



GORDON 

Great Scott, what did you think marriage was 
like, anyway? Did you expect to go through 
life having everything done for you, without a 
little hard work to make it interesting? 

LAURA 

Is it necessary to shout? 

GORDON 

Now let me tell you something. Let's see if 
you can ratify it from your extensive observa- 
tion of life. Is there anything in the world so 
cruel as bringing up a girl in absolute ignorance 
of housework, believing that all her days she's 
going to be waited on hand and foot, and that 
marriage is one long swoon of endearments— 

LAURA 

There's not much swooning while you're around. 

GORDON 

Why, I believe you actually think your life is 
wrecked if you aren't being petted and praised 
every minute. You pretend to think marriage 
is so sacred and yet you're buffaloed by a few 
greasy dishes. I like my kind of sacredness bet- 
ter than yours, and that's the sacredness of 
common sense. Marriage ought not to be per- 
formed before an altar, but before a kitchen 
sink. • 

laura {furiously) 

I ought to have known that oil and water won't 
mix. I ought to have known that a vulgar, 
selfish, conceited man couldn't make a girl 
happy who was brought up in a refined family. 
469 



THURSDAY EVENING 



I was a Sheffield, and why I ever became a Johns 
is more than I can imagine. Johns — I suppose 
that's camouflage for Jones. You're too com- 
mon, too ordinary, to know when you're lucky. 
You get a charming aristocratic wife and expect 
her to grub along like a washerwoman. You 
try to crush all the life and spirit out of her. 
You ought to have married an icebox — that's 
the only thing in this house you're really at- 
tentive to. 

GORDON 

Now listen — 

laura (will not be checked) 

Talk about being spoiled — why, your Mother 
babies you so, you think you're the only man 
on earth. (Sarcastically.) Her poor, over- 
worked boy, who tries so hard and gets all 
fagged out in the office and struggles so nobly 
to support his family! I wonder how you'd 
like to run this house and bear a child and take 
care of it and shuffle along with an ignorant 
coon for a maid and then cook a big dinner and 
be sneered at and never a word of praise. All 
you can think of is picking over the garbage 
pail and finding fault — 

Gordon (like a fool) 

I didn't find fault. I found some good food 
being wasted. 

LAURA 

All right, if you love the garbage pail better 
than you do your wife, you can live with it. 
(Flings her dishtowel on the floor and exit, L.) 
470 



THURSDAY EVENING 



(Gordon stands irresolutely at the sink, and makes 
a few gloomy motions among the unfinished dishes. 
He glares at the garbage can. Then he carefully 
gathers those portions of food that he had chosen 
as being still usable, contemplates them grimly, 
then puts them on a plate and, after some hesita- 
tion, puts the plate in the icebox. He takes the 
garbage can and puts it outside door, R. He re- 
turns into the kitchen, but then a sudden fit of 
anger seizes him.) 

GORDON 

It's always the way! (Tears off apron, throws it 
on the floor, and exit R, slamming door.)' 

(After a brief pause, the door at the rear, opening 
onto the back stairs, is cautiously opened, and 
Mrs. Sheffield enters quietly. She takes one swift 
look around the disordered kitchen, picks up dish- 
towel and apron from the floor, and seti to work 
rapidly to clean up. Then the back stairs door is 
again opened in the same stealthy way, and Mrs. 
Johns enters. The two ladies seem to take each 
other s measure with instinctive shrewdness, and 
fall into a silent, businesslike team-play in putting 
things to rights. Mrs. Johns takes charge at the 
sink, and the remaining dishes spin under her ca- 
pable hands. Mrs. Sheffield takes them from her, 
rapidly polishes them, and puts them away on the 
shelves. There is unconscious comedy in the 
trained precision and labor-saving method of their 
actions, which are synchronized so that every time 
Mrs. Johns holds out a washed dish, Mrs. Sheffield 
is moving back from the cabinet, ready to receive 

47i 



THURSDAY EVENING 



it. They work like automatons, for perhaps two 
minutes not a word is said, and the two seem, by 
searching side-glances, to be probing each other s 
mood.) 

MRS. JOHNS 

If it wasn't so tragic I'd laugh. {A pause, during 
which they work busily.) 

MRS. SHEFF 

If it wasn't so comic I'd cry. {Another pause.) 
I guess it's my fault. Poor Laura, I'm afraid 
I have spoiled her. 

MRS. JOHNS 

My fault, I think. Two mothers-in-law at once 
is too much for any young couple. I didn't 
know you were here, or I wouldn't have come. 

MRS. SHEFF 

Laura is so dreadfully sensitive, poor child — 

MRS. JOHNS 

Gordon works so hard at the office. You know 
he's trying to get promoted to the sales depart- 
ment, and I suppose it tells on his nerves — 

MRS. SHEFF 

If Laura could afford to have a nurse to help her 
with the baby she wouldn't get so exhausted — 

MRS. JOHNS 

Gordon says he wants to take out some more in- 
surance, that's why he worries so about economy. 
It isn't for himself, he's really very unselfish — 
mrs. sheff {a little tartly) 

Still, I do think that sometimes — {They pause 
and look at each other quickly.) My gracious, 
we'll be at it ourselves if we don't look out! 
472 



THURSDAY EVENING 



{She goes to the clothes-horse and rearranges the 
garments on it. She holds up a lilliputian shirty 
and they both smile.) 

MRS. JOHNS 

That darling baby! I hope he won't have poor 
Gordon's quick temper. It runs in the Johns 
family, I'm afraid. I was an Armstrong before 
I married Gordon's father — I didn't know what 
temper was until I married — either my own or 
his. 

MRS. SHEFF 

I was a Thomson — Thomson without the P, 
you know, from Rhode Island. All families are 
hot tempered. All husbands' families, anyway. 

MRS. JOHNS 

Gordon's father used to say that Adam and Eve 
didn't know when they were well off. He said 
that was why they called it the Garden of Eden. 

MRS. SHEFF 

Why? 

MRS. JOHNS 

Because there was no mother-in-law there. 

MRS. SHEFF 

Poor children, they have such a lot to learn! 
I really feel ashamed, Mrs. Johns, because 
Laura is an undisciplined little thing, and I'm 
afraid I've always petted her too much. She 
had such a lot of attention before she met Gor- 
don, and was made so much of, it gave her wrong 
ideas. 

MRS. JOHNS 

I wish Gordon was a little younger, I'd like to 
473 



THURSDAY EVENING 



turn him up and spank him. He's dreadfully 
stubborn and tactless — 

MRS. SHEFF 

But I'm afraid I did make a mistake. Laura 
was having such a good time as a girl, I was al- 
ways afraid she'd have a hard awakening when 
she married. But Mr. Sheffield had a good deal 
of money at that time, and he used to say, 'She's 
only young once, let her enjoy herself.' 

MRS. JOHNS 

My husband was shortsighted, too. He had had 
to skimp so, that he brought up Gordon to have 
a terror of wasting a nickel. 

MRS. SHEFF 

Very sensible. I wish Mr. Sheffield had had a 
little more of that terror. I shall have to tell 
him what his policy has resulted in. But really, 
you know, when I heard them at it, I could 
hardly help admiring them. {With a sigh.) It 
brings back old times! 

MRS. JOHNS 

So it does ! {A pause.) But we can't let them 
go on like this. A little vigorous quarreling is 
good for everybody. It's a kind of spiritual 
laxative. But they carry it too far. 

MRS. SHEFF 

They're awfully ingenious. They were even 
bickering about Junior's future mother-in-law. 
I suppose she's still in school, whoever she may 
be! 

MRS. JOHNS 

Being a mother-in-law is almost as painful as 
being a mother. 

474 



THURSDAY EVENING 



MRS. SHEFF 

I think every marriage ought to be preceded by 
a treaty of peace between the two mothers. If 
they understand each other, everything will 
work out all right. 

MRS. JOHNS 

You're right. When each one takes sides with 
her own child, it's fatal. 

mrs. sheff {lowering her voice) 

Look here, I think I know how we can make 

them ashamed of themselves. Where are they 

now? 
mrs. johns {goes cautiously to door L y and peeps 

through) 

Laura is lying on the couch in the living-room. 

I think she's crying — her face is buried in the 

cushions. 

MRS. SHEFF 

Splendid. That means she's listening with all 
her ears — {Tiptoes to window ', R.) I can't see 
Gordon, but I think he's walking round the 
garden — 

MRS. johns {quietly) 

If we were to talk a little louder he'd sit on the 
back steps to hear it — 

MRS. SHEFF 

Exactly. Now listen! {They put their heads to- 
gether and whisper; the audience does not hear 
what is said.) 

MRS. JOHNS 

Fine! Oh, that's fine! {Mrs. Sheffield whispers 
474 



THURSDAY EVENING 



again? inaudible to the spectators^) But wait a 
moment. Don't you think it would be better 
if / praise Laura and you praise Gordon? They 
won't expect that, and it might shame them — 

MRS. SHEFF 

No, no! Don't you see — (Whispers again , in- 
audibly.) 

MRS. JOHNS 

You're right. Cunning as serpents and harm- 
less as doves — {They carefully set both doors , 
L and R> ajar.) 

MRS. SHEFF 

I only hope we won't wake the baby — (They 
return to the task of cleaning up, and talk very loud, 
in pretended quarrel^) 

MRS. JOHNS 

Where do these dessert plates go? 

MRS. SHEFF 

On this shelf. 

MRS. JOHNS 

You're here so much more often than I, nat- 
urally you know Laura's arrangements better. 

MRS. SHEFF 

It's a lucky thing I am here. I don't know what 
poor Laura would do without me at such a 
dreadful time — 

MRS. JOHNS 

Poor Laura ! I should say she's very fortunate, 
such a good husband — 

MRS. SHEFF 

I think it's rather sad for a girl who has had as 
much as she has, to come down to this — 
476 



THURSDAY EVENING 



MRS. JOHNS 

It's perfectly wonderful how Gordon has got on 
in business — 

MRS. SHEFF 

He ought to, with such a lovely home, run like 
a clock — 

MRS. JOHNS 

Yes. An alarm clock. 

MRS. SHEFF 

Well, I'm not going to see my daughter's happi- 
ness ruined — 

MRS. JOHNS 

I always knew he'd make some girl a fine hus- 
band — 

MRS. SHEFF 

Perhaps. But he seems to have picked the 
wrong girl. Laura has too much spirit to be 
bullied — 

MRS. JOHNS 

Well, perhaps it was all a mistake. Poor Gor- 
don, he works so hard. I believe his hair is 
going white over his ears already. 

MRS. SHEFF 

Stuff! That's lather from where he shaved this 
morning. He's too slovenly to wash it off. 

MRS. JOHNS 

It isn't right that a young man should have to 
slave the way he does — 

mrs. sheff {apparently in a passion) 

Do you think that business slavery can com- 
pare to household slavery? I think it's heart- 

477 



THURSDAY EVENING 



rending to see an attractive girl like Laura shut 
up in a poky little house doing drudgery and tend- 
ing a baby. Think of it, having to take care of 
her own baby! Why, it's an outrage. If Gor- 
don was half a man, he'd get her a trained baby 
nurse so she wouldn't have to look at the poor 
little thing — 

mrs. johns {scathing) 

Yes, how sad that Gordon should have to en- 
trust his son to amateur Care when it needs sci- 
entific attention. 

MRS. SHEFF 

Poor darling Laura — she never ought to have 
had a baby. 

MRS. JOHNS 

Gordon is too intellectual to be bothered with 
these domestic details. He ought to be able 
to concentrate on his work. 

mrs. sheff {coming close to Mrs. Johns , feigning 
great rage, but grimacing to show it is merely acting) 
Well, if you don't think my daughter is good 
enough for your son, I can always take her home 
with me. I guess I can find room for her, and 
we can put the child in an institution. {Both 
nearly laugh, but recover themselves?) 

MRS. JOHNS 

Don't worry. Til take the child. He's a Johns 
anyway, not a Sheffield. And you just watch 
Gordon, when he's relieved of all this family 
worry and quarreling. He'll make his mark 
in the world. He's too fine to be. tied down by 
a wife that doesn't understand him. 
478 



THURSDAY EVENING 



MRS. SHEFF 

Oh, how happy Laura will be to hear this. My 
sweet, clever, attractive, economical, sensible 
little girl, free at last. Her married life has been 
a nightmare. That great, hulking, selfish man 
has tried to trample all the joy out of her. He 
shan't do it. 

MRS. JOHNS 

I never heard of a young husband as self-sacri- 
ficing as Gordon. I don't believe he ever goes 
out for an evening with other men, and he never 
spends anything on himself — 

MRS. SHEFF 

I think the way Laura runs her little home is 
just wonderful. See how she struggles to keep 
her kitchen in order — this miserable, incon- 
venient little kitchen, no gas, no pantry, no de- 
cent help. I think it's terrible she has had to put 
up with so much — (They pause, and listen at 
the door, L. The kitchen is now spick and span. 
Mrs. Johns makes a gesture to indicate that Laura 
is taking it all in, of staged) 

MRS. JOHNS 

Well, then, it's all settled. 

MRS. SHEFF 

Yes. As Laura's mother, I can't let her go on 
like this. A husband, a home, and a baby — it's 
enough to ruin any woman. 

MRS. JOHNS 

It's only fair to both sides to end it all. I never 
heard of such brutal hardships. Gordon can't 
fight against these things any longer. Throwing 

479 



THURSDAY EVENING 



away a soupbone and three slices of bread! I 
wonder he doesn't go mad. 

MRS. SHEFF 

We've saved them just in time. (They look at 
each other knowingly ', with the air of those who 
have done a sound bit of work. Then they stealthily 
open the door at the rear, and exeunt up the back 
stairs?) 

{There is a brief paws e; then the door L opens like 
an explosion, and Laura bursts in. She stands 
for a moment, wild-eyed, stamps her foot in a pas- 
sion. Then she seizes one of the baby shirts from 
the rack, and drops into the chair by the table, cry- 
ing. She^ buries her head in her arms, concealing 
the shirt. Enter Gordon, R. He stands uncer- 
tainly, evidently feeling like a fool?) 

GORDON 

I'm sorry, I — I left my pipe in here. (Finds it 
by the sink.) 

laura (her face still hidden) 
Oh, Gordie, was it all a mistake? 

Gordon (troubled, pats her shoulder tentatively) 
Now listen, Creature, don't. You'll make 
yourself sick. 

LAURA 

I never thought I'd hear such things — from my 
own mother. 

GORDON 

I never heard such rot. They must be mad, 
both of them. 

480 



THURSDAY EVENING 



LAURA 

Then you were listening, too — 

GORDON 

Yes. Why, they're deliberately trying to set us 
against each other. 

LAURA 

They wouldn't have dared speak like that if they 
had known we could hear. Gordon, I don't 
think it's legal — 

GORDON 

I'm afraid the law doesn't give one much pro- 
tection against one's mothers. 
laura (miserably) 

I guess she's right. I am spoiled, and I am silly, 
and I am extravagant — 

GORDON 

Don't be silly, darling. That's crazy stuff. I'm 
not overworked, and even if I were I'd love it, 
for you — 

LAURA 

I don't want a nurse for Junior. I wouldn't have 
one in the house. (Sits up> dishevelled, and dis- 
plays the small shirt she has been clutching.) Gor- 
don, I'm not an amateur! I love that baby and 
I am scientific. I keep a chart of his weight 
every week. 

GORDON 

Yes, I know, ducky, Gordon understands. Soon 
we'll be able to buy that scales you want, and 
we won't have to weigh him on the meat balance. 

LAURA 

Nobody can take away my darling baby — 
481 



THURSDAY EVENING 



GORDON 

It was my faulty dear. I am obstinate and dis- 
agreeable — 

LAURA 

I'll speak to Ethel about the garbage — 

GORDON 

Ethel's all right. We're lucky to have her. 

LAURA 

Gordon, you mustn't work too hard. You know 
you're all I have — (A sob.) since Mother's gone 
back on me. 

Gordon (patting her) 

I think it's frightful, the things they said. What 
are they trying to do, break up a happy home? 

LAURA 

We are happy, aren't we? 

GORDON 

Well, I should say so. Did you ever hear me 
complain? (Takes her in his arms.) 

LAURA 

No, Gordie. It was cruel of them to try to make 
trouble between us — but, perhaps, some of the 
things they said — 

GORDON 

Were true? — 

LAURA 

Well, not exactly true, dear, but — interesting! 
— your mother is right, you do have a hard time, 
and I'll try — 
Gordon (stops her) 

No, your mother is right. I've been a brute — 
482 



THURSDAY EVENING 



LAURA 

I'm lucky to have such a husband — {They are 
silent a moment.) 

GORDON 

I suppose you'll think it an awful anticlimax — 

LAURA 

What, dear? 

GORDON 

Suppose we have something to eat? 

laura (happily) 
Good idea. Quarreling always makes me 
hungry. (They go to the icebox.) I didn't really 
get any supper to speak of, I was worrying about 
everything so — 

Gordon (opening icebox) 

You mean dinner ; honey — among refined people! 

LAURA 

Don't be a tease. Come on, we'll have a snack — 
(She discovers Gordon s plate of left-overs.) 

GORDON 

Throw out that junk — I was idiotic to save it. 

LAURA 

No, Gordie, you were quite right. We must 
save everything we can. Four or five heads of 
lettuce would make a new shirt for Junior. 
Gordon (bewildered) 
Lettuce? 

LAURA 

I mean, if we saved that much, it would make 
enough money to buy him a new little vest. 
He's getting so enormous — (She puts plate of 
left-overs on the table, with some other cold food.) 

483 



THURSDAY EVENING 



GORDON 

There, now, this is better. {They sit down at 
.table.) 

laura {thoughtfully) 

You know, Gordie, we mustn't let them know 
we heard them. 

GORDON 

No, I suppose not. But it's hard to forgive that 
sort of talk. 

LAURA 

Even if they did say atrocious things, I think 
they really love us — 

GORDON 

We'll be a bit cold and stand-offish until things 
blow over. 

laura {complacently) 

If I'm ever a mother-in-law, I shall try to be 

very understanding — 

GORDON 

Yes, Creature. Do you remember why I call 
you Creature? 

LAURA 

Do I not? 

GORDON 

There was an adjective omitted, you remember. 

LAURA 

Oh, Gordie, that's one of the troubles of married 
life. So many of the nice adjectives seem to get 
omitted. 

GORDON 

Motto for married men: Don't run short of ad- 

484 



THURSDAY EVENING 



jectives! — You remember what the adjective 
was? 

LAURA 

Tell me. 

GORDON 

Adorable. It was an abbreviation for Adorable 
Creature — {Holds her. They are both perfectly 
happy.) I love our little Thursday evenings. 
laura {partly breaks from his embrace) 
Sssh! {Listens.) Was that the baby? 

CURTAIN 



485 



THE DREAMY KID 

(1918) 

A PLAY 

by Eugene G. O'Neill 



CHARACTERS 

Mammy Saunders 

Abe, her grandson y "The Dreamy Kid" 

Ceely Ann 

Irene 

Originally produced by the Provincetown Players in 1919 



Copyright, 1922, by EUGENE G. O'NEILL 

No performance of this play may be given without the written consent 

of, and arrangement with, the author, who may be addressed in 

care of the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. 



THE DREAMY KID 



Scene. — Mammy Saunders* bedroom in a house 
just of of Carmine Street, New York City. The 
left of the room, forward, is taken up by a heavy, 
old-fashioned wooden bedstead with a feather mat- 
tress. A gaudy red-and-yellow quilt covers the 
other bedclothes. In back of the bed, a chest of 
drawers placed against the left wall. On top of 
the chest, a small lamp. A rocking-chair stands 
beside the head of the bed on the right. In the 
rear wall, toward the right, a low window, with 
ragged white curtains. In the right corner, a wash- 
stand with bowl and pitcher. Bottles of med- 
icine, a spoon, a glass, etc., are also on the stand. 
Farther forward, a door opening on the hall and 
stairway. 

It is soon after nightfall of a day in early winter. 
The room is in shadowy half -darkness, the only 
light being a pale glow that seeps through the 
window from the arc lamp on the nearby corner, 
and by which the objects in the room can be dimly 
discerned. The vague outlines of Mammy Saun- 
ders' figure lying in the bed can be seen, and her 
black face stands out in sharp contrast from the 
pillows that support her head. 

MAMMY SAUNDERS (weakly) 

Ceely Ann ! {With faint querulousness) Light 
de lamp, will you? Hits mighty dark in yere. 
{After a slight pause) Ain't you dar, Ceely Ann? 
489 



THE DREAMY KID 



{Receiving no reply y she sighs deeply and her 
limbs move uneasily under the bedclothes. The 
door is opened and shut and the stooping form of 
another colored woman appears in the semi- 
darkness. She goes to the foot of the bed, sobbing 
softly, and stands there, evidently making an 
effort to control her emotion.) 

MAMMY SAUNDERS 

Dat you, Ceely Ann? 
ceely {huskily) 
Hit ain't no yuther, Mammy. 

MAMMY 

Light de lamp, den. I can't see no whars. 

CEELY 

Des one second, till I finds a match. {She 
wipes her eyes with her handkerchief, then goes to 
the chest of drawers and feels around on the top 
of it, pretending to grumble.) Hit beat all how 
dem pesky little sticks done hide umse'fs. 
Shoo! Yere dey is. {She fumbles with the lamp.) 

mammy {suspiciously) 

You ain't been cryin', is you? 

ceely {with feigned astonishment) 

Cryin'? I clar' ter goodness, you does git the 
mos' fool notions lyin' dar. 

mammy {in a tone of relief) 
I mos' thought I yeard you. 

ceely {lighting the lamp) 
'Deed you aint. 

{The two women are revealed by the light. Mammy 
Saunders is an old white-haired negress about 
ninety, with a weazened face furrowed by wrinkles 
and withered by old age and sickness. Ceely is a 
490 



THE DREAMY KID 



stout woman of fifty or so, with gray hair and a 
round fat face. She wears a loose-fitting ging- 
ham dress and a shawl thrown over her head. 

ceely {with attempted cheeriness) 

Bless yo' soul, I ain't got nothin' to cry 'bout. 
Yere. Lemme fix you so you'll rest mo' easy. 
{She lifts the old woman gently and m fixes the 
pi flows.) Dere. Now ain't you feelin' better? 

mammy {dully) 

My strenk don' all went. I can't lift a hand. 

ceely {hurriedly) 

Dat'll all come back ter you, de doctor tole 
me des now when I goes down to de door 
with him. {Glibly) He say you is de mos' 
strongest 'oman fo' yo' years ever he sees in 
de worl'; and he tell me you gwine ter be up 
and walkin' agin fo' de week's out. {As she 
finds the old woman's eyes fixed on her> she turns 
away confusedly and abruptly changes the sub- 
ject.) Hit ain't too wo'm in dis room, dat's 
a fac'. 

mammy {shaking her head — in a half-whisper) 
No, Ceely Ann. Hit ain't no use'n you tellin' 
me nothin' but de trufe. I feels mighty poo'ly. 
En I knows hit's on'y wid de blessin' er Gawd 
I kin las' de night out. 

ceely {distractedly) 

Ain't no sich a thing! Hush yo' noise, Mammy! 

mammy {as if she hadn't heard — in a crooning 
sing-song) 

I'se gwine soon fum dis wicked yearth — and 
may de Lawd have mercy on dis po' ole sinner. 
{After a pause — anxiously) All I'se pray in' fer 
491 



THE DREAMY KID 



is dat Gawd don' take me befo' I sees Dreamy 
agin. Whar's Dreamy, Ceely Ann? Why ain't 
he come yere? Ain't you done sent him word 
Fse sick, like I tole you? 

CEELY 

I tole dem boys ter tell him speshul, and dey 
swar dey would soon's dey find him. I s'pose 
dey ain't kotch him yit. Don' yo' pester 
yo'se'f worryin'. Dreamy 'ull come fo' ve'y 
long. 

mammy {after a pause — weakly) 

Dere's a feelin' in my haid like I was a-floatin' 
yander whar I can't see nothin', or 'member 
nothin', or know de sight er any pusson I 
knows; en I wants ter see Dreamy agin befo' — 

ceely {quickly) 

Don' waste yo' strenk talkin'. Yo' git a wink 
er sleep en I wake yo' when he comes. Yo' 
heah me? 

mammy (faintly) 

I does feel mighty drowsy. {She closes her eyes.) 

{Ceely goes over to the window and> pulling the 
curtains aside> stands looking down into the 
street as if she were watching for someone coming. 
A moment later there is a noise of footfalls from 
the stairs in the hall, followed by a sharp rap on 
the door.) 

ceely {turning quickly from the window) 
S-s-s-h-h ! S-s-s-h-h ! 

{She hurries to the door y glancing anxiously to- 
ward Mammy. The old woman appears to have 
fallen asleep. Ceely cautiously opens the door a 
bare inch or so and peeks out. When she sees 
492 



THE DREAMY KID 



who it is she immediately tries to slam it shut 
again, but a vigorous shove from the outside forces 
her back and Irene pushes her way defiantly into 
the room. She is a young, good-looking negress, 
highly rouged and powdered, dressed in gaudy, 
cheap finery?) 

Irene (in a harsh voice, evidently worked up to a 
great state of nervous excitement) 
No you don't, Ceely Ann! I said I was comin' 
here, and it'll take mo'n you to stop me! 

ceely {almost speechless with horrified indigna- 
tion — breathing heavily) 

Yo' bad oman! Git back ter yo' bad-house, 
whar yo' b 'longs! 

irene (raising her clenched hand— furiously) 
Stop dat talkin' to me, nigger, or I'll split yo' 
fool head ! (As Ceely shrinks away, Irene lowers 
her hand and glances quickly around the room.) 
Whar's Dreamy? 

ceely (scornfully) 

Yo' axe me dat! Whar's Dreamy? Axe yo'se'f. 
Yo's de one ought ter know whar he is. 

IRENE 

Den he ain't come here? 

CEELY 

I ain't tellin' de likes er you wedder he is or not. 

irene (pleadingly) 

Tell me, Ceely Ann, ain't he been here? He'd 
be sure to come here, 'count of Mammy dyin\ 
dey said. 

ceely (pointing to Mammy — apprehensively) 
S-s-shsh ! (Then lowering her voice to a whisper — 
suspiciously) Dey said? Who said? 
493 



THE DREAMY KID 



irene {equally suspicious) 

None o' your business who said. (Then pleading 
again) Ceely Ann, I jest got ter see him dis 
minute, dis secon'! He's in bad, Dreamy is, 
and I knows somep'n I gotter tell him, somep'n 
I jest heard — 

ceely (uncomprehending! y) 
In bad? What you jest heah? 

IRENE 

I ain't tellin' no one but him. (Desperately.) 
For Gawd's sake, tell me whar he is, Ceely! 

CEELY 

I don't know no mo'n you. 
irene (fiercely) 

You's lyin', Ceely! You's ryin' ter me jest 
'cause I'se bad. 

CEELY 

De good Lawd bar witness I'se tellin' you de 

trufe ! 
irene (hopelessly) 

Den I gotter go find him, high and low, some- 

wheres. (Proudly) You ain't got de right not 

ter trust me, Ceely, where de Dreamy 's mixed 

in it. I'd go ter hell for Dreamy! 
ceely (indignantly) 

Hush yo' wicked cussin'! (Then, anxiously) Is 

Dreamy in trouble? 
irene (with a scornful laugh) 

Trouble? Good Lawd, it's worser'n dat! 

(Then in surprise) Ain't you heerd what de 

Dreamy done last night, Ceely? 
ceely (apprehensively) 

What de Dreamy do? Tell me, gal. Somep'n 

bad? 

494 



THE DREAMY KID 



irene {with the same scornful laugh) 
Bad? Worser'n bad, what he done! 

ceely {lamenting querulously) 

Oh, good Lawd, I knowed it! I knowed with 
all his carryin's-on wid dat passel er tough 
young niggers — him so uppity 'cause he's de 
boss er de gang — sleepin' all de day 'stead er 
workin' an' Lawd knows what he does in de 
nights — fightin' wid white folks, an' totin' a 
pistol in his pocket — {with a glance of angry 
resentment at Irene) an' as fo' de udder com- 
pany he's been keepin' — 

irene {fiercely) 

Shut your mouth, Ceely! Dat ain't your 
business. 

CEELY 

Oh, I knowed Dreamy'd be gittin' in trouble 
fo' long! De low-flung young trash! An' here's 
his ole Mammy don't know no dif'frunt but 
he's de mos' innercent young lamb in de worl'. 
{In a strained whisper) What he do? Is he 
been stealin' somep'n? 

irene {angrily) 

You go ter hell, Ceely Ann! You ain't no fren' 
of de Dreamy's, you talk dat way, and I ain't 
got no time ter waste argyin' wid your fool 
notions. {She goes to the door.) Dreamy'll go 
ter his death sho's yo' born, if I don't find him 
an' tell him quick! 

ceely {terrified) 
Oh, Lawd! 

irene {anxiously) 

He'll sho'ly try ter come here and see his ole 

Mammy befo' she dies, don't you think, Ceely? 
32 495 



THE DREAMY KID 



CEELY 

Fo' Gawd, I hopes so! She's been a-prayin' 
all de day — 
irene {opening the door) 

You hopes so, you fool nigger! I tells you it's 
good-bye to de Dreamy, he come here! I 
knows ! I gotter find an' stop him. If he come 
here, Ceely, you tell him git out quick and 
hide, he don't wanter get pinched. You hear? 
You tell him dat, Ceely, for Gawd's sake! I'se 
got ter go — find him — high an' low — 

{She goes out leaving Ceely staring at her in 
speechless indign atio n . ) 

ceely {drawing a deep breath) 

Yo' street gal! I don' b'lieve one word you 
says — stufnn' me wid yo' bad lies so's you kin 
keep de Dreamy frum leavin' you! {Mammy 
Saunders awakes and groans faintly. Ceely 
hurries over to her bedside.) Is de pain hurtin' 
agin. Mammy? 

mammy {vaguely) 
Dat you. Dreamy? 

CEELY 

No, Mammy, dis is Ceely. Dreamy's comin' 

soon. Is you restin' easy? 
mammy {as if she hadnt heard) 

Dat you, Dreamy? 
ceely {sitting down in the rocker by the bed and 

taking one of the old woman s hands in hers) 

No. Dreamy's comin'. 
mammy {after a pause — suddenly) 

Does you 'member yo' dead Mammy, chile? 
496 



THE DREAMY KID 



ceely {mystified) 
My dead Mammy? 

MAMMY 

Didn't I heah yo' talkin' jest now, Dreamy? 
ceely (very worried) 

I clar ter goodness, she don' know me ary bit. 
Dis is Ceely Ann talkin' ter yo', Mammy. 

MAMMY 

Who was yo' talkin' wid, Dreamy? 
ceely (shaking her head — in a trembling voice) 
Hit can't be long befo' de en'. (In a louder 
tone) Hit was me talkin' wid a pusson fum ovah 
de way. She say tell you Dreamy comin' heah 
ter see yo' right away. You heah dat, Mammy? 

(The old woman sighs , but does not answer. 
There is a paused) 

mammy (suddenly) 

Does yo' 'member yo' dead Mammy, chile? 
(Then with a burst of religious exaltation) De 
Lawd have mercy! 

ceely (like an echo) 

Bless de Lawd! (Then in a frightened half- 
whisper to herself) Po' thing! Her min's done 
leavin' her, jest like de doctor said. 

(She looks down at the old woman helplessly. The 
door on the right is opened stealthily and the 
Dreamy Kid slinks in on tiptoe?) 

ceely (hearing a board creaky turns quickly toward 

the door and gives a frightened start) 

Dreamy! 
dreamy (puts his fingers to his lips — command- 

ingly) S-s-s-h-h ! 

497 



THE DREAMY KID 



{He bends down to a crouching position and, 
holding the door about an inch open, peers out 
into the hallway in an attitude of tense waiting, 
one hand evidently clutching some weapon in the 
side pocket of his coat. After a moment he is 
satisfied of not being followed, and, after closing 
the door carefully and locking it, he stands up 
and walks to the center of the room, casting a look 
of awed curiosity at the figure in the bed. He is a 
well-built, good-looking young negro, light in 
color. His eyes are shifty and hard, their expres- 
sion one of tough, scornful defiance. His mouth 
is cruel and perpetually drawn back at the corner 
into a snarl. He is dressed in well-fitting clothes 
of a flashy pattern. A light cap is pulled down 
on the side of his head.) 

ceely {coming from the bed to meet him) 
Bless de Lawd, here you is at las'! 

dreamy {with a warning gesture) 

Nix on de loud talk! Talk low, can't yuh? 
{He glances back at the door furtively, then con- 
tinues with a sneer) Yuh're a fine nut, Ceely 
Ann! What for you sendin' out all ober de 
town for me like you was crazy? D'yuh want 
ter git me in de cooler? Don' you know dey're 
after me for what I done last night? 

ceely {fearfully) 

I heerd somep'n — but — what you done, 
Dreamy? 

dreamy {with an attempt at a careless bravado) 
I croaked a guy, dat's what! A white man. 

ceely {in a frightened whisper) 
What you mean — croaked? 
498 



THE DREAMY KID 



dreamy {boastfully) 

I shot him dead, dat's what! {As Ceely shrinks 
away from him in horror — resentfully) Aw say, 
don' gimme none o' dem looks o' yourn. 
'T'warn't my doin' nohow. He was de one 
lookin' for trouble. I wasn't seekin' for no mess 
wid him dat I would help. But he tole folks 
he was gwine ter git me for a fac', and dat 
fo'ced my hand. I had ter git him ter pertect 
my own life. {JVith cruel satisfaction) And I 
got him right, you brieve me! 

ceely {putting her hands over her face with a low 

moan of terror) 

May de good Lawd pardon yo' wickedness! 

Oh, Lawd! What yo' po' ole Mammy gwine 

say if she hear tell — an' she never knowin' 

how bad you's got. 
dreamy {fiercely) 

Hell! You ain't tole her, is you? 
ceely 

Think I want to kill her on the instant? An' 

I didn' know myse'f — what you done — till you 

tells me. {Frighten edly) Oh, Dreamy, what you 

gwine do now? How you gwine git away? 

{Almost wailing) Good Lawd, de perlice gon' 

kotch you suah! 
dreamy {savagely) 

Shut yo* loud mouth, damn yo'! {He stands 

tensely listening for some sound from the hall. 

After a moment he points to the bed.) Is Mammy 

sleepin' ? 
ceely {tiptoes to the bed) 

Seems like she is. {She comes back to him.) 
499 



THE DREAMY KID 



Dat's de way wid her — sleep fo' a few minutes, 
den she wake, den sleep again. 

dreamy (scornfully) 

Aw, dere ain't nothin' wrong wid her 'ceptin' 
she's ole. What yuh wanter send de word 
tellin' me she's croakin', and git me comin' 
here at de risk o' my life, and den find her 
sleepin'. {Clenching his fist threateningly.) I 
gotter mind ter smash yo' face for playin' de 
damn fool and makin' me de goat. (He turns 
toward the door.) Ain't no use'n me stayin' 
here when dey'll likely come lookin' for me. 
I'm gwine out where I gotta chance ter make 
my git-away. De boy is all fixin' it up for me. 
(His hand on the door knob) When Mammy 
wakes, you tell her I couldn't wait, you hear? 

ceely (hurrying to him and grabbing his arm — 
pleadingly) 

Don' yo' go now, Dreamy — not jest yit. Fo' 
de good Lawd's sake don' yo' go befo' you 
speaks wid her! If yo' knew how she's been 
a-callin' an' a-prayin' for yo' all de day — 

dreamy (scornfully ', but a bit uncertainly) 

Aw, she don' need none o' me. What good kin 
I do watchin' her do a kip? It'd be dif'frunt if 
she was croakin' on de level. 

ceely (in an anguished whisper) 

She's gwine wake up in a secon' an' den she 
call: "Dreamy. Whar's Dreamy?" An' what 
I gwine tell her den? An' yo' Mammy is dyin', 
Dreamy, sho's fate! Her min' been wanderin' 
an' she don' even recernize me no mo', an' de 
doctor say when dat come it ain't but a sho't 
time befo' de en'. Yo' gotter stay wid yo' 
500 



THE DREAMY KID 



Mammy long nuff ter speak wid her, Dreamy. 
Yo' jest gotter stay wid her in her las' secon's 
on dis yearth when she's callin' ter yo\ {With 
conviction, as he hesitates) Listen heah, yo' 
Dreamy! Yo' don' never git no bit er luck in 
dis worril ary agin, yo' leaves her now. De 
perlice gon' kotch yo' suah. 

Dreamy {with superstitious fear) 

S-s-s-h-h! Can dat bull, Ceely! {Then boast- 
fully) I wasn't pinin' to beat it up here, git 
me? De boys was all persuadin' me not ter 
take de chance. It's takin' my life in my 
hands, dat's what. But when I heerd it was 
ole Mammy croakin' and axin' ter see me, I 
says ter myse'f: ''Dreamy, you gotter make 
good wid ole Mammy, no matter what come — 
or you don' never git a bit of luck in yo' life 
no more." And I was game and come, wasn't 
I ? Nary body in dis worril kin say de Dreamy 
ain't game ter de core, n'matter what. {JVith 
sudden decision, walks to the foot of the bed and 
stands looking down at Mammy. A note of fear 
creeps into his voice) Gawd, she's quiet 'nuff. 
Maybe she done passed away in her sleep like 
de ole ones does. You go see, Ceely; an' if she's 
on'y sleepin', you wake her up. I wanter speak 
wid her quick — an' den I'll make a break outa 
here. You make it fast, Ceely Ann, I tells yo'. 

ceely {bends down beside the bed) 

Mammy! Mammy! Here's de Dreamy. 

mammy {opens her eyes — drowsily and vaguely, in a 
weak voice) 
Dreamy? 

501 



THE DREAMY KID 



dreamy {shuffling his feet and moving around the 
bed) 
Here I is, Mammy. 

mammy {fastening her eyes on him with fascinated 
joy) 

Dreamy! Hits yo'! {Then uncertainly) I ain't 
dreamin' nor seem' ha'nts, is I ? 

dreamy {coming forward and taking her hand) 
'Deed I ain't no ghost. Here I is, sho' 'nuff. 

mammy {clutching his hand tight and pulling it 
down on her breast — in an ecstasy of happiness) 
Didn' I know you'd come! Didn' I say: 
"Dreamy ain't gwine let his ole Mammy die all 
'lone by he'se'f an' him not dere wid her." I 
knows yo'd come. {She starts to laugh joyously, 
but coughs and sinks back weakly.) 

dreamy {shudders in spite of himself as he re- 
alizes for the first time how far gone the old 
woman is — forcing a tone of joking reassurance) 
What's dat foolishness I hears you talkin', 
Mammy? Wha' d'yuh mean pullin' dat bull 
'bout croakin' on me? Shoo! Tryin' ter kid 
me, ain't yo'? Shoo! You live ter plant de 
flowers on my grave, see if you don'. 

mammy {sadly and very weakly) 

I knows! I knows! Hit ain't long now. {Burst- 
ing into a sudden weak hysteria) Yo' stay heah, 
Dreamy! Yo' stay heah by me, yo' stay heah 
— till de good Lawd take me home. Yo' 
promise me dat ! Yo' do dat fo' po' ole Mammy, 
won't yo'? 

dreamy {uneasily) 

'Deed I will, Mammy, 'deed I will. 
502 



THE DREAMY KID 



mammy {closing her eyes with a sigh of relief — 
calmly) 

Bless de Lawd for dat. Den I ain't skeered no 
mo'. {She settles herself comfortably in the bed 
as if preparing for sleeps 

ceely (in a low voice) 

I gotter go home fo' a minute, Dreamy. I 
ain't been dere all de day, and Lawd knows 
what happen. I'll be back yere befo' ve'y 
long. 

dreamy (his eyes fixed on Mammy) 

Aw right, beat it if yuh wanter. (Turning to 
her — in a fierce whisper) On'y don' be long. 
I can't stay here an' take dis risk, you hear? 

ceely (frightenedly) 

I knows, chile. I come back, I swar! 

(She goes out quietly. Dreamy goes quickly to the 
window and cautiously searches the street below 
with his eyes.) 

mammy (uneasily) 

Dreamy. (He hurries back and takes her hand 
again.) I got de mos' 'culiar feelin' in my 
head. Seems like de years done all roll away 
an' I'm back down home in de ole place whar 
you' was bo'n. (After a short pause.) Does yo' 
'member yo' own mammy, chile? 

DREAMY 

No. 

MAMMY 

Yo' was too young, I s'pec'. Yo' was on'y a 
baby w'en she tuck 'n' die. My Sal was a 
mighty fine 'oman, if I does say hit my se'f. 
S°3 



THE DREAMY KID 



dreamy {fidgeting nervously) 

Don' you talk. Mammy. Better you'd close 

yo' eyes an' rest. 
mammy {with a trembling smile — weakly) 

Shoo! Wat is I done come ter, wid my own 

gran'chile bossin' me 'bout. I wants ter talk. 

You knows you ain't give me much chance 

ter talk wid yo' dese las' years. 
dreamy (sullenly) 

I ain't had de time, Mammy; but you knows 

I was always game ter give you anything I 

got. (A note of appeal in his voice) You knows 

dat, don' you, Mammy? 

MAMMY 

Sho'ly I does. Yo' been a good boy, Dreamy; 
an' if dere's one thing more'n 'nother makes 
me feel like I mighter done good in de sight er 
de Lawd, hits dat I raised yo' fum a baby. 

dreamy (clearing his throat gruffly) 
Don' you talk so much, Mammy. 

mammy (querulously) 

I gotter talk, chile. Come times — w'en I git 
thinkin' yere in de bed — w'at's gwine ter come 
ter me a'mos' b'fore I knows hit — like de thief 
in de night — en den I gits skeered. But w'en 
I talks wid yo', I ain't skeered a bit. 

dreamy (defiantly) 

You ain't got nothin' to be skeered of — not 
when de Dreamy's here. 

mammy (after a slight pause — faintly) 

Dere's a singin' in my ears all de time. (Seized 
by a sudden religious ecstasy) Maybe hits de 
singin' hymns o' de blessed angels I done heah 
504 



THE DREAMY KID 



fum above. {Wildly) Bless Gawd! Bless 
Gawd! Pity dis po' ole sinner! 
dreamy (with an uneasy glance at the door) 
S-s-shsh, Mammy! Don' shout so loud. 

MAMMY 

De pictures keep a whizzin' fo' my eyes like de 
thread in a sewing machine. Seems 's if all 
my life fly back ter me all ter once. (With a 
flickering smile — weakly) Does you know how 
yo' come by dat nickname dey alls call yo' — 
de Dreamy? Is I ever tole yo' dat? 
dreamy (evidently lying) 
No, Mammy. 

MAMMY 

Hit was one mawnin' b'fo' we come No'th. 

Me an' yo' mammy — yo' was des a baby in 

arms den — 
dreamy (hears a noise from the hall) 

S-s-sh-h, Mammy! For Gawd's sake, don' 

speak for a minute. I hears somep'n. (He 

stares at the door, his face hardening savagely, 

and listens intently.) 
mammy (in a frightened tone) 

Wat's de matter, chile? 

DREAMY 

S-s-s-h-h! Somebody comin'. (A noise of foot- 
steps comes from the hall stairway. Dreamy 
springs to his feet.) Leggo my hand, Mammy — 
jest for a secon'. I come right back to you. 

(He pulls his hand from the old woman y s grip. 
She falls back on the pillows, moaning. Dreamy 
pulls a large automatic revolver from his coat 
pocket and tiptoes quickly to the door. As he 

5°S 



THE DREAMY KID 



does so, there is a sharp rap. He stands listening 
at the crack for a moment, then noiselessly turns 
the key, unlocking the door. Then he crouches 
low down by the wall so that the door, when 
opened, will hide him from the sight of anyone 
entering. There is another and louder rap on 
the door.) 

mammy {groaning) 

Wat's dat, Dreamy? Whar is yo'? 

Dreamy 

S-s-sh-h! {Then muffling his voice, he calls) 
Come in. {He raises the revolver in his hand.) 

{The door is pushed open md Irene enters, her 
eyes peering wildly about the room. Her bosom 
is heaving as if she has been running, and she is 
trembling all over with terrified excitement,?) 

irene {not seeing him, calls ouf questioningly) 

Dreamy ? 
dreamy {lowering his revolver and rising to his 

feet roughly) 

Close dat door! 
irene {whirling about with a startled cry) 

Dreamy! 
dreamy {shutting the door and locking it — ag- 
gressively) 

Shut yo' big mouth, gal, or I'll bang it shut for 

you! You wanter let de whole block know 

where I is? 
irene {hysterical with joy — trying to put her arms 

around him) 

Bless Gawd, I foun' you at last! 
506 



THE DREAMY KID 



dreamy {pushing her away roughly) 

Leggo o' me! Why you come here follerin' 
me? Ain't yo' got 'nuff sense in yo' fool head 
ter know de bulls is liable ter shadow you when 
dey knows you's my gal? Is you pinin' ter 
git me kotched an' sent to de chair? 

irene {terrified) 
No, no ! 

dreamy {savagely) 

I gotter mind ter hand you one you won't 
forget! {He draws back his fist.) 

irene {shrinking away) 

Don' you hit me, Dreamy! Don' you beat me 
up now! Jest lemme 'xplain, dat's all. 

mammy {in a frightened whisper) 

Dreamy! Come yere to me. Whar is yo'? 
I'se skeered! 

dreamy (in a fierce whisper to Irene) 

Can dat bull or I'll fix you. (He hurries to the 
old woman and pats her hand?) Here I is, 
Mammy. 

MAMMY 

Who dat yo's a-talkin' wid? 

DREAMY 

On'y a fren' o' Ceely Ann's, Mammy, axin' 
where she is. I gotter talk wid her some mo' 
yit. You sleep, Mammy? (He goes to Irene?) 
mammy (feebly) 

Don' yo' leave me, Dreamy. 

DREAMY 

I'se right here wid you. (Fiercely to Irene) You 
git the hell outa here, you Reeny, you heah — 
quick! Dis ain't no place for de likes o' you, 
wid ole Mammy dyin'. 
5°7 



THE DREAMY KID 



irene (with a horrified glance at the bed) 
Is she dyin' — honest? 

DREAMY 

S-s-s-h-h! She's croaking I tells yo' — an' I 
gotter stay wid her fo' a while — an' I ain't got 
no time ter be pesterin' wid you. Beat it 
now! Beat it outa here befo' I knocks yo' 
cold, git me? 

IRENE 

Jest wait a secon', for de love o' Gawd. I got 
somep'n ter tell you — 

DREAMY 

I don't wanter hear yo' fool talk. (He gives her 
a push toward the door?) Git outa dis, you hear 
me? 

IRENE 

I'll go. I'm gwine soon — soon's ever I've had 
my say. Lissen, Dreamy! It's about de 
coppers I come ter tell you. 
dreamy (quickly) 

Why don' you say dat befo'? What you 
know, gal? 

IRENE 

Just befo' I come here to find you de first time, 
de madam sends me out to Murphy's ter git 
her a bottle o' gin. I goes in de side door, but 
I ain't rung de bell yet. I hear yo' name 
spoken an' I stops ter lissen. Dey was three or 
four men in de back room. Dey don't hear 
me open de outside door, an' dey can't see me, 
course. It was Big Sullivan from de Central 
Office talkin'. He was talkin' 'bout de killin' 
you done last night, and he tells dem odders 
he's heerd 'bout de ole woman gittin' so sick, 
508 



THE DREAMY KID 



and dat if dey don't fin' you none of de odder 
places dey's looking dey's goin' wait for you 
here. Dey s'pecs you come here say good-bye 
to Mammy befo' you make yo' git-away. 

DREAMY 

It's aw right, den. Dey ain't come yit. Twister 
Smith done tole me de coast was clear befo' 
I come here. 

IRENE 

Dat was den. It ain't now. 
dreamy (excitedly) 
What you mean, gal? 

IRENE 

I was comin' in by de front way when 1 sees 
some pusson hidin' in de doorway 'cross de 
street. I gits a good peek at him and when I 
does — it's a copper, Dreamy, suah's yo' born, 
in his plain clo'se, and he's a watchin' de door 
o' dis house like a cat. 
dreamy (goes to the window and, stealthily crouch- 
ing by the dark side, peeks out. One glance is 
enough. He comes quickly back to Irene?) You 
got de right dope, gal. It's dat Mickey. I 
knows him even in de dark. Dey're waitin' — 
so dey ain't wise I'm here yit, dat's suah. 

IRENE 

But dey'll git wise befo' long. 

DREAMY 

He don' pipe you comin* in here? 

IRENE 

I skulked roun' and sneaked in by de back 
way froo de yard. Dey ain't none o* dem dar 
yit. (Raising her voice — excitedly) But dere will 
be soon, Dey're boun' to git wise to dat back 
509 



THE DREAMY KID 



door. You ain't got no time to lose, Dreamy, 

Come on wid me now. Git back where yo' 

safe. It's de cooler for you certain if you stays 

here. Dey'll git you like a rat in de trap. 

(As Dreamy hesitates) For de love of Gawd, 

Dreamy, wake up to youse'f! 
dreamy {uncertainly) 

I can't beat it — wid Mammy here alone. My 

luck done turn bad all my life if I does. 
irene (fiercely) 

What good's you gittin' pinched and sent to 

de chair gwine do her? Is you crazy mad? 

Come away wid me, I tells you! 
dreamy (half persuaded — hesitatingly) 

I gotter speak wid her. You wait a secon'. 
irene (wringing her hands) 

Dis ain't no time now for fussin' wid her. 
dreamy (gruffly) 

Shut up! (He makes a motion for her to remain 

where she is and goes over to the bed — in a low 

voice) Mammy. 
mammy (hazily) 

Dat you, Dreamy? (She tries to reach out her 

hand and touch him.) 
dreamy 

I'm gwine leave you — jest for a moment, 

Mammy. I'll send de word for Ceely Ann — 
mammy (wide awake in an instant — with intense 

alarm) 

Don' yo' do dat. Don' yo' move one step out 

er yere, or yo'll be sorry, Dreamy. 
dreamy (apprehensively) 

I gotter go, I tells you. I'll come back. 
510 



THE DREAMY KID 



mammy (with wild grief) 

O good Lawd! Wen I's drawin' de las' bre'fs 
in dis po' ole body. (Frenziedly) De Lawd have 
mercy! Good Lawd, have mercy! 

dreamy (fearfully) 

Stop dat racket, Mammy! You bring all o' 
dem down on my head! (He rushes over and 
crouches by the window again to peer out — in 
relieved tones) He ain't heerd nothin'. He's 
dar yit. 

Irene (imploringly) 
Come on. Dreamy! 

(Mammy groans with pain.) 

dreamy (hurrying to the bed) 
What's de matter, Mammy? 

irene (stamping her foot) 
Dreamy! Fo' Gawd's sake! 

MAMMY 

Lawd have mercy! (She groans.) Gimme yo' 
han', chile. Yo' ain't gwine leave me now, 
Dreamy? Yo' ain't, is yo'? Yo' ole Mammy 
won't bodder yo' long. Yo' know w'at yo' 
promise me, Dreamy! Yo' promise yo' sacred 
word yo' stay wid me till de en'. (With an air 
of somber prophecy — slowly) If yo' leave me 
now, yo' ain't gwine git no bit er luck s'long's 
yo' live, I tells yo' dat! 

dreamy (frightened — pleadingly) 
Don't you say dat, Mammy! 

IRENE 

Come on, Dreamy! 

33 511 



THE DREAMY KID 



DREAMY {slowly) 

I can't. {In awed tones) Don* you hear de curse 
she puts on me if I does? 

mammy {her voice trembling with weak tears) 
Don' go, chile! 

dreamy {hastily) 

I won't leave dis room, I swar ter you! {Re- 
lieved by the finality in his tones , the old woman 
sighs and closes her eyes. Dreamy frees his hand 
from hers and goes to Irene. He speaks with a 
strange calm.) De game's up, gal. You better 
beat it while de gwine's good. 

Irene {aghast) 
You gwine stay? 

DREAMY 

I gotter, gal. I ain't gwine agin her dyin' 
curse. No, suh! 

irene {pitifully) 
But dey'll git you, suah! 

dreamy {slapping the gun in his pocket signifi- 
cantly) 

Dey'll have some gittin\ I git some o' dem 
fust. {With gloomy determination) Dey don' git 
dis chicken alive! Lawd Jesus, no suh. Not 
de Dreamy! 

irene {helplessly) 

Oh, Lawdy, Lawdy! {She goes to the window — 
with a short cry) He's talkin' wid someone. 
Dere's two o' dem. 

{Dreamy hurries to her side.) 

dreamy 

I knows him — de udder. It's Big Sullivan. 
{Pulling her away roughly.) Come out o' dat! 
512 



THE DREAMY KID 



Dey'll see you. {He pushes her toward the door.) 
Dey won't wait down here much longer. Dey'll 
be comin' up here soon. {Prayerfully , with a 
glance at the bed) I hopes she's croaked by den, 
fo' Christ I does! 

irene {as if she couldn't believe it) 

Den you ain't gwine save youse'f while dere's 
time? {Pleadingly) Oh, Dreamy, you can 
make it yet! 

DREAMY 

De game's up, I tole you. {With gloomy 
fatalism) I s'pect it hatter be. Yes, suh. 
Dey'd git me in de long run, anyway — and wid 
her curse de luck'd be agin me. (JVith sudden 
anger) Git outa here, you Reeny! You ain't 
aimin' ter git shot up, too, is you? Ain't no 
sense in dat. 

irene {fiercely) 

I'se stayin', too, here wid you! 

DREAMY 

No you isn't! None o* dat bull! You ain't 
got no mix in dis jamb. 

IRENE 

Yes, I is! Ain't you my man? 

DREAMY 

Don' make no dif. I don' wanter git you in 
Dutch more'n you is. It's bad 'nuff fo' me. 
{He pushes her toward the door.) Blow while 
you kin, I tells you! 

irene {resisting him) 

No, Dreamy! What I care if dey kills me? 
I'se gwine stick wid you. 
5*3 



THE DREAMY KID 



dreamy (gives her another push) 

No, you isn't, gal. (Unlocking the door — re- 
lentlessly) Out wid you! 

Irene (hysterically) 

You can't gimme no bum's rush. I'm gwine 
stay. 

dreamy (gloomily) 

On'y one thing io me ter do, den. (He hits her 
on the side of the face with all his might, knocking 
her back against the wall, where she sways as if 
about to fall. Then he opens the door and grabs 
her two arms from behind) Out wid you, gal! 

irene (moaning) 

Dreamy! Dreamy! Lemme stay wid you! 
(He pushes her into the hallway and holds her 
there at arm f s length.) Fo' Gawd's sake, Dreamy. 

mammy (whimperingly) 
Dreamy! I'se skeered! 

irene (from the hall) 

I'se gwine stay right here at de door. You 
might 's well lemme in. 

dreamy (frowning) 

Don' do dat, Reeny. (Then with a sudden 
idea) You run roun' and tell de gang what's 
up. Maybe dey git me outa dis, you hear? 

irene (with eager hope) 
You think dey kin? 

DREAMY 

Never kin tell. You hurry — through de back 
yard, 'member — an' don' git pinched, now. 

irene (eagerly) 

I'm gwine! I'll bring dem back! 

dreamy (stands listening to her retreating foot- 

5*4 



THE DREAMY KID 



steps — then shuts and locks the door — gloomily to 
himself) 

Ain't no good. Dey dassent do nothin' — but I 
hatter git her outa dis somehow. 
mammy {groaning) 
Dreamy! 

DREAMY 

Here I is. Jest a secon\ {He goes to the win- 
dow?) 

mammy {weakly) 

I feels — like — de en's comin'. Oh, Lawd, 
Lawd! 

dreamy {absent-mindedly) 

Yes, Mammy. {Aloud to himself) Dey're 
sneakin' cross de street. Dere's anudder of 
'em. Dat's tree. 

{He glances around the room quickly — then 
hurries over and takes hold of the chest of drawers. 
As he does so the old woman commences to croon 
shrilly to herself?) 

DREAMY 

Stop dat noise, Mammy! Stop dat noise! 
mammy {wanderingly) 

Dat's how come yo' got dat — dat nickname — 
Dreamy. 

dreamy 

Yes, Mammy. 

{He puts the lamp on the floor to the rear of the 
door, turning it down low. Then he carries 
the chest of drawers over and places it against 
the door as a barricade.) 

5*5 



THE DREAMY KID 



mammy (rambling as he does this — very feebly) 
Does yo' know — I gives you dat name — w'en 
yo's des a baby — lyin' in my arms — 

DREAMY 

Yes, Mammy. 

MAMMY 

Down by de crik — under de ole willow — whar 
I uster take yo' — wid yo' big eyes a-chasin' — 
de sun flitterin' froo de grass — an' out on de 
water — 
dreamy {takes the revolver from his pocket and puts 
it on top of the chest of drawers.) Dey don't git 
de Dreamy alive — not for de chair! Lawd 
Jesus, no suh! 

MAMMY 

An' yo' was always — a-lookin' — an' a-thinkin' 
ter yo'se'f — an' yo' big eyes jest a-dreamin' an' 
a-dreamin' — an' dat's w'en I gives yo' dat 
nickname — Dreamy — Dreamy — 

DREAMY 

Yes, Mammy. {He listens at the crack of the 
door — in a tense whisper) I don' hear dem — but 
dey're comin' sneakin' up de stairs, I knows it. 

mammy (faintly) 

Whar is yo', Dreamy? I can't — ha'dly — 
breathe — no mo'. Oh, Lawd, have mercy! 

dreamy (goes over to the bed) 
Here I is, Mammy. 

mammy (speaking with difficulty) 

Yo' — kneel down — chile — say a pray'r — Oh, 
Lawd! 

DREAMY 

Jest a secon' Mammy. (He goes over and gets 
his revolver and comes back.) 

5 i6 



THE DREAMY KID 



MAMMY 

Gimme — yo' hand — chile. {Dreamy gives her 
his left hand. The revolver is in his right. He 
stares nervously at the door.) An' yo' kneel 
down — pray fo' me. 

{Dreamy gets on one knee beside the bed. There 
is a sound from the hallway as if someone had 
made a misstep on the stairs — then silence. 
Dreamy starts and half aims his gun in the 
direction of the door. Mammy groans weakly?) 

MAMMY 

I'm dyin', chile. Hit's de en'. You pray 

for me — out loud — so's I can heah. Oh, Lawd! 

{She gasps to catch her breath.) 
dreamy {abstractedly , not having heard a word she 

has said) 

Yes, Mammy. {Aloud to himself, with an air 

of grim determination as if he were making a 

pledge) Dey don't git de Dreamy! Not while 

he's 'live! Lawd Jesus, no suh! 
mammy {falteringly) 

Dat's right — yo' pray — Lawd Jesus — Lawd 

Jesus — 

{There is another slight sound of movement from 
the hallway.) 

THE CURTAIN FALLS 



5i7 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 

A COMEDY IN 1 ONE ACT 

Based on a Work of Octave Feuillet 
by George Jay Smith 



PERSONS 

Corisanda, a Countess 
Bettina, her Maid 
An s elm, her Notary 
Rosario, a Stranger 
Mazetto, his Servant 

First produced at the Bandbox Theater, New York, 191 5, 
by The Washington Square Players. 



Copyright, 191 5, by GEORGE JAY SMITH 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Applications for permission to produce Forbidden Fruit 
must be made to George Jay Smith, 500 Park Ave., New York. 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 

The scene shows an interior, a large living-room 
in the chateau of the Countess Corisanda. Doors 
right and left. A large window ', left rear, in flat. 
A large divan under the window, which is suitably 
draped with curtains. A small writing desk right, 
forward. A table left, near the side. A wall mirror 
near it. Carpet, chairs, etc. 

At rise, Corisanda is seated, LC, and Bettina is 
engaged in putting the finishing touches on the 
Countess' coiffure. 

CORISANDA 

Oh, how bored I am! . . . What shall I read, 
Bettina? — while you are doing my hair? Hand 
me those verses that silly Marquis addressed to 
me. . . . {Bettina brings the paper from the 
writing desk. After glancing at the verses, Cori- 
sanda throws them impatiently upon the table.) 
No; go call my notary. {Bettina goes to door, 
right, and summons Anselm. He enters, ap- 
proaches and bows.) Good day, Monsieur 
Anselm. . . . Oh, pardon me, but what does 
this mean? What's the color of your hair? 

ANSELM 

A blond brown, Madame. 

CORISANDA 

Ah, this is some joke. Yesterday it was black 
as a crow. 

521 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



anselm {embarrassed) 

Madame the Countess is mistaken. 

CORISANDA 

I assure you, Mr. Notary, it was black as a crow. 
Why should I try to deceive you? — Bettina, 
haven't you almost finished? 

BETTINA 

Almost, Madame. 

ANSELM 

Madame the Countess had nothing else to say 
to me? 

CORISANDA 

Oh, I ask your pardon. Please sit there. (He 
sits.) Take this bundle of papers which came 
yesterday by post. (She hands him papers from 
her table?) They are about that law-suit of the 
Count's for the lands. I spent half the night 
going over these papers, and do you know what 
I have discovered? That I have lost! Fifty 
thousand francs, if you please. 

anselm (who has opened the papers) 

Pardon, Madame, but, on the contrary, you 
have won. 

corisanda (bursting into laughter) 

Ah, so much the better! . . . Did I have anything 
else to say to you ? . . . Ah, no matter. 

anselm (aside) 

Can she have seen how I feel? 

CORISANDA 

Yes. . . . There is one matter I must speak of. 

ANSELM 

Yes, Madame? — (Aside) I tremble for fear my 
love may be displeasing to her. 

522 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



CORISANDA 

I'm going to make my will. 

ANSELM 

Your will, Madame? 

CORISANDA 

I shall die of weariness tomorrow, or day after 
at latest. I shall be bored to death. 

ANSELM 

Weary? bored? Madame! In this magnificent 
chateau, beautiful, rich, a widow. 

CORISANDA 

Bettina, explain to Monsieur Anselm why I am 
bored. 

BETTINA 

Madame is bored, Monsieur, because she is 
beautiful, rich, and a widow. These are three 
very sufficient reasons. She is bored because 
she has no wish that may not be gratified, be- 
cause there is no whim that her immense fortune 
does not permit her to carry out, no man whom 
her beauty does not make a lover, and no lover 
whom her liberty does not permit her to marry. 

corisanda {sighing) 

Ah, all that is only too true! {Noise of horsemen 
is heard.) What's that noise, Bettina? A troop 
of cavalry? 

bettina {running to the window) 

Madame, there are two strange gentlemen on 
horseback — one with feathers on his hat! 

CORISANDA 

Is he young, the one with feathers? 

{Anselm rises.) 

S 2 3 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



BETTINA 

Young and fine-looking! But his valet has the 
look of a goose dressed in livery. They're enter- 
ing the court. 
corisanda (who has gone to the window) 

He is handsome, that's true. How unfortunate ! 
It would be fun to turn his head, but then he'd 
want to marry me, and what reason could I give 
for saying no? For, of course, I am a widow. 
. . . He'd take me for a coquette — he wouldn't 
know how bored I am. 

BETTINA 

That's a case when it would be most convenient 
to have a husband. 

CORISANDA 

Bettina, I can't refuse him hospitality if he asks 
it. (She reflects a moment?) Yes, that's it. 
Monsieur Anselm, you are my husband! 
an s elm (starting) 

Good heavens! What, Madame! 

CORISANDA 

Yes, for an hour or two — for as long as this 
stranger is in my chateau. Listen now, and you, 
Bettina, give the word to all the servants. (She 
comes forward with Anselm and Bettina?) Mon- 
sieur Anselm, you are General Castelforte, my 
husband, whom false news reported dead in 
Bulgaria. . . . Now, then, this young stranger, 
whatever happens, can ask me nothing that I 
shall not be in a position to refuse him. Re- 
member, Anselm, to speak as I speak. 

ANSELM 

Yes, Madame. Should I, in the course of con- 

5 2 4 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



versa tion, call you "my angel" — before this 
young man? 

CORISANDA 

No. Put on this sword. (She goes to the wall, 
right, and brings a sword and belt.) 
an s elm (aside) 

Is all this only a game to make me understand 
she knows of my love? — Why shouldn't I be the 
husband for her? I'm the only well-dressed man 
in the neighborhood. 

CORISANDA 

Here, get on your gloves, and give me your 
hand. (Seizing his hand with a flourish she goes 
out, left, laughing, followed by Anselm, with the 
papers, grave, and Bettina.) 

(Knocking on door, without, right. Re-enter 
Bettina, who admits the Chevalier de Rosario and 
Mazetto, his valet. They place their hats on the 
divan, rear. All three, com r e forward.) 

ROSARIO 

Whose is this chateau, my girl ? 

BETTINA 

The Countess Corisanda's, sir. 

ROSARIO 

Is she young, this Countess? 

BETTINA 

Young as one of the Graces, and beautiful as all 
three. 

ROSARIO 

Take this purse for your mythology. 

BETTINA 

Thanks, Your Highness. 

S15 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



mazetto {coming closer to Bettind) 

I must see a little closer here. Oh, good heavens, 
my child! What is that on your cheek there? 
{He suddenly kisses her.) Be easy, there's noth- 
ing there now. 

ROSARIO 

You have disgusting bad manners, Mazetto. 
My dear, will you announce the Chevalier de 
Rosario to your mistress? 
bettina {smiling) 
Yes, Your Excellency. She begs that you will 
await her here. {She makes a saucy face at Ma- 
zetto ', and goes out y left.) 

ROSARIO 

Explain me one thing, Mazetto: you seem re- 
markably successful with women. . . . 
mazetto {laughing) 

Oh — fairly, fairly, that's a fact. 

ROSARIO 

And yet you have the face of a fool. 

MAZETTO 

Nothing is more certain; I have. 

ROSARIO 

Notwithstanding, you please women — you re- 
ceive their favors? 

MAZETTO 

I should receive them if my master would only 
give me time enough. Yesterday, when you 
called me, if you had only given me ten minutes 
more my happiness would have been certain. 

ROSARIO 

You have a crazy idea of always wanting ten 
minutes more. Your "ten minutes more" is 
getting to be a little tiresome. But how is it 
526 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



with a face like that you can win any woman's 
favor? I can't understand it. 

MAZETTO 

Oh, this face of mine gives me positive advan- 
tages. Women say, "Oh, he's only a poor fool, 
that Mazetto." And that gives me positively 
great advantages. 

ROSARIO 

That may be. Everything has its good side — 
except marriage. 

MAZETTO 

Oh, that thought torments you, sir! It has be- 
come a sort of refrain in your talk. 

ROSARIO 

But why are women such fools as to wish to bury 
their lovers in the guise of a husband ? Disagree- 
able scientists will cut a beautiful flower in the 
sun to make of it an old dried-up thing in a her- 
barium. Women are the same way. 

MA7ETTO 

Your excellency is not a marrying man, that's 
all. 

ROSARIO 

No, and when I make love to a pretty woman 
(which, of course, I can't help doing), it's most 
annoying to have her make an unpleasant scene 
when she discovers I'm not the marrying sort. 

MAZETTO 

Well, you have only to let them think from the 
first that you are already married. 

ROSARIO 

Married? No; that gives a fellow an awkward 
air. But there's one thing I might do. I'll say 
I'm a Knight of Malta. Everyone knows that 



34 52? 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



the rule of this Order forbids marriage — that's 
a great idea! 

MAZETTO 

And I — I'll give myself out for a lay brother of 
of the same Order! We'll both be safe then. 

ROSARIO 

Be silent. She's coming. 

{Bettina opens the door, left, and admits Cori- 
sanda and Anselm.) 

BETTINA 

My lady, gentlemen. 
rosario {aside) 

Who's this melancholy fellow with her? — {Aloud) 
Madame, finding myself this morning on your 
road here with my valet — 

CORISANDA 

Sir, it is a piece of good fortune in this lonely 
region to — 
rosa Rio {bowing) 
To find a hostess so charming. 

CORISANDA 

The pleasure, I assure you, is mutual. But 
without more compliment, pray be seated. 
{Aside to Anselm.) Remember to back up all I 
say. 

{They all sit except Mazetto and Bettina.) 

rosario {aside) 

She's very beautiful. — {To Mazetto, apart). 

Don't forget to enlarge on what I say. 
bettina {to Corisanda, apart) 

His lackey is certainly a fool. 

528 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



rosa rio {aside) 

I wonder who this silent duffer can be? — {Aloud) 
Madame, permit me to introduce myself as the 
Chevalier de Rosario, {insistently) Knight of 
Malta. 

mazetto {bowing) 

Of the holy Order of Malta. 

CORISANDA 

Chevalier, let me present General Castelforte, 
my husband, recently returned from his last 
campaign in Bulgaria. 

an s elm {bowing) 
In Bulgaria. 

rosario {bowing) 

General. — {Aside) What an ass he is! But 
since she's married, the Order of Malta was un- 
necessary, in fact embarrassing. Bah! she's 
forgotten it already! 

CORISANDA 

Tell me, Chevalier, exactly what is your Order 
of Malta? I confess my ignorance of it. 

ROSARIO 

Oh, Countess, it's an order of knighthood — like 
all the orders. 

MAZETTO 

Except, Madame, that it forbids marriage. 
rosario {aside) 

The idiot! When she's married! 

CORISANDA 

Ah! — {Aside.) If I'd known that, I shouldn't 
have bothered with this stupid notary. But, 
too late now. 

529 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



rosario {looking furiously at Mazetto) 

My servant also, Madame, belongs to the same 
Order, and is bound by the same vows. 

mazetto {ogling Bettina) 
Yes, for my sins. 

bettina {aside) 

He's rather funny after all, this fellow. 

CORISANDA 

Did you choose this profession, Chevalier? 

ROSARIO 

Frankly, no, Madame. My father chose it for 
me, in my boyhood, because I was the youngest 
of my house. 

MAZETTO 

As I of mine. 
rosario {apart to the Countess) 

Pardon, Countess. Would you mind sending 
this valet of mine to the servants' quarters ? 

CORISANDA 

Bettina, take this young man and let him have 
some breakfast — unless his vows forbid food. 

MAZETTO 

Oh, no, Madame! 

{Bettina and Mazetto exeunt, right?) 

ROSARIO 

A thousand thanks, Countess! When the boy 
sees me in peril of temptation, he becomes in- 
tolerable. Count, you appear troubled; pray, 
don't let me detain you. . . . 

CORISANDA 

You must pardon the Count, Chevalier de Ro- 
sario. The great suffering he endured in Bul- 
garia rendered him very taciturn. 

53° 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



ANSELM 

Very taciturn. 

CORISANDA 

He was wounded and made prisoner in a skirm- 
ish, and, like everyone else, I, for a year, be- 
lieved him dead. 

ANSELM 

Dead. 

CORISANDA 

Heaven was good enough to restore him to me 
one evening in the garb of a pilgrim. 

ANSELM 

Of a pilgrim. 

rosa rio {aside) 

Good Lord! It's an echo dressed like a man! 
(Aloud.) General, it's very sad. Madame, will 
you permit me to express the great admiration 
I have for your park? — surely one of the most 
beautiful I have ever seen. It has the coquetry 
of a lovely woman, always inviting, yet always 
concealing and evading. I should like to ex- 
plore this park, Madame. 

corisanda (smiling) 

But you would get lost, Chevalier, unless I serve 
you as guide; and if I guide you I should destroy 
the solitude. 

ROSARIO 

Countess! Do angels destroy paradise? Count, 
I am truly sorry for your indisposition. 
corisanda (rising) 

I take you at your word. Give me your arm. 
My dear Count, this walk would tire you. (All 
have risen.) 

53* 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



ANSELM 

But, my loveliest one. . . . 

CORISANDA 

Silence, my dear. No unnecessary gallantry. 
The Chevalier will excuse you, I say. 

ROSA RIO 

Certainly, General. 

CORISANDA 

Let us go out, Chevalier, by way of the library. 

(They go out, left. Anselm remains, pacing 
furiously up and down.) 

anselm (alone) 

I'm their stalking horse, that's plain. I'm play- 
ing fool to them. This stranger with his pre- 
tentious talk must think me an ass. But, by 
heaven! I won't lose them from my sight. I'll 
make use of the advantage she's given me. It's 
not delicate, but love knows no law. Where 
the deuce have I seen that? No matter. After 
them. 

(He follows them, going out left. Enter, right, 
Bettina and Mazetto.) 

MAZETTO 

Lovely Bettina! I admired you from the first 
glimpse I had of you ! 
bettina (left center) 

Sorry I can't return the compliment. 

MAZETTO 

"Like mistress, like maid" proves true; only, if 
anything, I like your style a bit better than the 
Countess'. 

532 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



bettina {edging away from his arm) 

Pity you don't share the Chevalier's good looks. 

What's the matter with your arm? 
mazetto {trying to embrace her) 

It's nervous. 

BETTINA 

And you a brother of a holy order, too! 

MAZETTO 

Ah! But then you understand my vows were 
not so strict as the Chevalier's. Far from it. 

BETTINA 

Evidently^ 

{He seizes her and kisses her. She runs out, left, 
followed by Mazetto. Enter ; right, C oris an da 
and Rosario.) 

ROSARIO 

We've eluded him, Countess. 

CORISANDA 

Ah, the General is experienced in pursuit. 

ROSARIO 

Madame, do you know you are maddeningly 
beautiful? 

CORISANDA 

Pray, Chevalier, admire my park ah you please, 
but let my face be. 

ROSARIO 

Madame, in this world we admire what we must, 
whether we ought or not. 

CORISANDA 

But surely it is not permitted a Knight of 
Malta .... 
rosario {hastily) 

Oh, beautiful Countess! I see you have a little 
533 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



misunderstood that matter of the vows. {Sht 
happens to look back to the window, at which the 
face of An s elm appears?) 

corisanda (aside) 

Anselm! The impertinent meddler! 

rosario {aside, also having perceived Anselm) 
The Count! Confound him! Fortunately his 
wife hasn't seen him. — {Aloud) Countess, if 
you will again enter the library, we may enjoy 
the view now more at leisure. 

CORISANDA 

Certainly, Chevalier. {She looks back at the win- 
dow, from which the face of Anselm disappears.) 
This way! {They go out again, left.) 

{Enter Anselm, right, out of breath and irritated.) 

ANSELM 

Where did they go? They have no shame! I'm 
eaten up with jealousy. {Calling loudly.) Cori- 
sanda! Oh, Corisanda! — I know well I'll lose 
the Countess' favor forever, but love doesn't 
reason. {He calls into the door, left.) Corisanda! 
Where are you? Corisanda! Oh, you are there, 
my dear one ! 

corisanda {entering) 

You are an insolent fool, Anselm. Go away! 
What do you mean? 

anselm {in a loud voice) 
No, my adored angel! 

CORISANDA {low VOtCe) 

What! You deserve a thrashing, you impudent 
fellow ! 
anselm {very loud) 

No, joy of my life! No i 
534 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



corisanda [low voice) 

I'll call the Chevalier and let him deal with you. 

{Calling.) Chevalier, here, if you please! 
anselm [low voice) 

Countess! You will involve yourself in great 

embarrassment. 

[Enter Rosario, left.) 

corisanda [aloud) 

'Tis well, sir. You are right. A thousand par- 
dons, Chevalier. The General reminds me of 
an engagement. Pray excuse me. [Exit, right.) 

rosario [striking Anselm on the shoulder) 

What the Countess told me is the fact, Gen- 
eral ? 

ANSELM 

What, sir? 

ROSARIO 

Not only that the world believed you dead, but 
that you yourself shared in this tragic opinion ? 

ANSELM 

Maybe so. 

ROSARIO 

You thought yourself dead, General? Very 
strange, indeed. But, shall I tell you? You 
don't seem to have recovered from that idea. 

ANSELM 

Possibly not. 
rosario [taking of his coat) 

In that case, wouldn't it be just as well to bury 
you, by way of precaution? [He takes his sword 
into his hand.) 

ANSELM [coldly) 

Underling! [He goes out hastily, right.) 
535 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



rosario {stupefied) 

What! Are you crazy? IVe insulted you and 
you run away ! Sir, you are ridiculous ! {Louder) 
General, you are a coward! — {Alone.) Well, I'll 
be — I never knew the like in all my life — and he 
a general! {He puts on his coat. Noticing the 
desk, he sits and writes as follows:) 
"Madame, I have deceived you: I have made 
no eternal vow save that of loving you. The 
union which binds you is monstrous. I will say 
nothing of the General. Either he is an idiot, 
or his mind is so far unbalanced that he refuses 
to fight me. I will rescue you from this bond- 
age. I will go to Rome, to the Pope. I will do 
anything that is necessary, but I will recover 
liberty for you. Then do with me as you will. 
Your husband or your slave, Rosario." 
{Calling) Mazetto! {Enter Mazetto, left) Take 
this to the Countess. {Exit Mazetto, right.) 
Oh, I am saved in this world and the next, if 
this woman will marry me. Thanks be to 
heaven for this second youth which I feel in my 
veins! O primitive faith, lost and sacred adora- 
tion, I feel you revive in my soul, and flood my 
heart! 

mazetto {returning) 

Sir, I met the Countess' servant, who was 
bringing this note from her mistress, and I gave 
Jier yours. That girl would make a musket fall 
in love! 

ROSARIO 

Goc {Exit Mazetto, left.) — {Reading) "I have 
deceived you, Chevalier, The Count, my hus- 
band, is dead. I am free, but you are not. I 
536 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



will never see you again under any pretext. 
Adieu." Divine pity! She is free! and she 
loves me! {The Countess appears at door, right, 
holding the open letter of Rosario. He perceives 
her.) Oh, beloved vision! Tears, tears in your 
eyes! Oh, let me stop them forever! 

CORISANDA 

No, no let them flow, Chevalier! They are 
sweet. Come! {The Chevalier kneels at her 
feet, LC.) No, my friend, beside me; your hand 
in mine. Look into my eyes, since they please 
you. Talk to me of love, since I love you. Oh, 
my own, my own ! 

rosario {embracing her) 

Dear heart, how my mother will love you ! The 
news that at last I love, love truly, blessedly, 
will make her happy. Oh, my darling — my life 
has not been all it should have been. Let me 
confess to you . . . 

CORISANDA 

No — no. It would only be to waste words. Let 
the past be. The present is enough! 

ROSARIO 

Oh, how I love you, love you! Till the end of 
the world! 

CORISANDA 

Some little ceremony is necessary for that, 
Chevalier. I have a mother, too, and her pres- 
ence here now would be advisable. Come, sit 
there, write to your mother; I will write here, 
to mine. 

{Rosario sits at the desk, Corisanda at the table.) 

537 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



ROSARIO 

It's far away from you, here. 

CORISANDA 

Well, in that case, make haste. 
rosario {writing) 

"My dear Mother"— 
corisanda {writing) 

"Beloved Mamma" — 
rosario {aside, thoughtful) 

Yes, yes, I love her, certainly — very probably. 

I've spoken very feelingly to her. 
corisanda {aside) 

We shall be married. He wasn't a Knight of 

Malta, after all. That probably excited me. 
rosario {looking at her, aside) 

Assuredly, she's a beauty. Her mind has some 

depth, too. 
corisanda {looking at him, aside) 

A good-looking man. His foot rather big: but a 

well-looking man. 

ROSARIO 

"My dear Mother."— {Aside.) Who the devil 
can that pretended general be? She has a rather 
thin arm, like that of an actress I once knew. 

CORISANDA 

"Beloved Mamma." . . . You're not writing, 
Chevalier? 

ROSARIO 

I ask your pardon. But when one wishes to be 
brief, one seeks the right word, and that takes 
time. — {Aside.) That shadow on her upper lip, 
to an indifferent person, would look like a mous- 
tache. Her arm is certainly thin. {Pretends to 
write.) 

538 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



co ri sand a {aside) 

Somehow I don't feel very sure of him. He's 
had experiences. Do I really know anything 
about him ? {Pretends to write.) 

ROSARIO 

She has seen life, this widow — for she is a 
widow ... ' 

CORISANDA 

Chevalier, you're not writing? 

ROSARIO 

It seems to me we're playing the same game, 
Countess: your paper is blank, too. 

CORISANDA 

Do you know, Monsieur de Rosario, that your 
hesitation could be given an ill interpretation? 

ROSARIO 

How about yours, Madame? 
corisanda {abruptly , after a pause) 

Chevalier, you have an enormous foot. 

rosario {rising) 

It is a reproach, Countess, which your arm will 
never merit! 

CORISANDA 

Your hat, sir, is on the divan. 

rosario {bowing) 

If the dream has been half as agreeable to you, 
Madame, as to me, you will pardon me the 
awakening, as I pardon it to you. Mazetto! 
Blood and death! Mazetto! 

(Mazetto, redjaced, puts his head in at the door, 
left.) 

539 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT 



MAZETTO 

My lord, in heaven's name! In the name of all 

that's most sacred! Ten minutes more! 
rosario {putting on his hat) 

Fool! Will you come, or not? 
mazetto {entering) 

Oh! my cursed luck! You are harder than 

rock, sir! 

ROSARIO 

There's your hat! We're off! {Exeunt, right.) 
corisanda {seating herself languidly) 

Bettina! {Enter Bettina, left.) Hand me a 
novel, Bettina. . . . {Corisanda regards herself 
in her hand mirror :) . . . Oh, how bored I am! 



CURTAIN 



540 



JEZEBEL 

A PLAY 

by Dorothy Stockbridge 



CHARACTERS 

Jezebel Melkah Jehu 

Messenger Two Slaves 

First produced at Vassar College 



Copyright, 1921, by DOROTHY STOCKBRIDGE 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Applications for permission to produce this play should be ad- 
dressed to Miss Dorothy Stockbridge, in care of Hector Mac 
Quarries' Book Shop, 27 University Place, New York City. No 
performance may be given without her consent. 



JEZEBEL 



SCENE 

A room in the royal palace in Jezreel overhanging 
the wall of the city. At back is a great window 
with steps leading up to it. D. R. is a statue of 
the Golden Bull on a pedestal. Jezebel is kneeling 
before it, her forehead bowed on its hoofs, side face 
to the audience. Melkah, a slave girl, not over 
young but very handsome, stands in the window 
looking down on the plain below. There are en- 
trances through the curtains, R. and L. and a 
great chair, U. R. As the curtain rises, there is 
an instant's silence. 

JEZEBEL 

He whom I nursed as a child, forget not his 
name, O Heedless One. 

He is riding forth into battle, Joram, Joram, my 
son. 

With his hundred men of iron he is riding forth, 
And Ahaziah, King of Judah, is with him, 
I have served thee well, O thou golden Beast. 
I have builded unto thee images and temples. 
I have kept thy prophets, and in this way and 
in that, 

Have I slain the priests of Him who would de- 
stroy thee. 

(More softly.) 
Forget not therefore his name, O Heedless One. 
Joram, Joram, my son. 
Remember him in the hour of battle. 
543 



JEZEBEL 



His coat is red, red as the blood of his heart that 

I gave him. 

Thou canst see him afar off. 

Be thou a shield to his heart, that no harm befall 

him. 

(Rises, turning to slave.) 
Girl, girl, rideth my son bravely? (Taking a few 
impatient steps, M. C.) 

Speak! Speak! What seest thou? Hath he 
goodly following? 

MELKAH 

Aye, Queen. He is well attended. But the 
army of his enemy numbereth many men. 

JEZEBEL 

His enemy. Would I knew his name. May he 
be accursed forever. Tell me, girl, canst thou 
not see who this man is that dare confront the 
King, my son ? 

MELKAH (slowly) 

Nay, O Jezebel. He standeth too far. (A 
quiver of excitement in her voice?) But he bear- 
eth himself well — (softly) well. 

JEZEBEL 

Some upstart captain whom Joram trained to 
war. What color weareth he? 

MELKAH 

A green coat. (Turning and facing Jezebel with 
covert triumph?) And his hair is like flame in the 
sun. 
jezebel (venomously) 

Then it is Jehu. Jehu, the stranger, whom no 
one knew. Cursed be his name and his house. 
My son loved him and made him to be his cap- 
tain, albeit he came none knew whence, and 
544 



JEZEBEL 



now he turneth on him to rend him. (Goes to 
chair and sits down.) 

MELKAH 

Aye, he came none knew whence. 

JEZEBEL 

And Joram loved him. 

MELKAH 

Aye, O daughter of Kings. (Maliciously.) And 
thou, too, didst love him, ingrate that he is. 
jezebel (quickly) 
I? I loved him? 

MELKAH 

Aye, Queen, and he hath returned thee this 
treachery. Cursed be he that could see love in 
thine eyes and return thee such treachery. 

JEZEBEL 

It is a lie, girl, I never loved him. (The murmur 
oj distant shouting is heard \ softly at first.) 

MELKAH 

True, true! Alas, that he should have dared to 
boast of thy love in the streets of Jezreel and 
among the captains. 
jezebel (hoarse with rage) 

Ah, when I shall have him in these hands! 

MELKAH 

He will die, I doubt not, O Queen. 

JEZEBEL 

Die! (Breaks of as murmur rises to a distant 
shout and then dies down again. The tempo, 
which began at a medium speed, has been slowly 
decreasing for the last ten lines or so. Now there 
is a sudden jump to quick tempo in the following 
lines.) 

545 



JEZEBEL 

melkah (at window) 

The messenger of King Joram hath ridden forth 

to speak with Jehu. 
jezebel (hoarsely) 

What — what — tell me what befalleth, girl. 

MELKAH 

A strange chance, truly. The messenger goeth 
not back to the army of our King Joram, but 
entereth the host of Jehu the traitor. 

jezebel (rising) 

Dogs that they are. And must my son perish 
at the hands of traitors? — Perish — (Again a 
shout.) 

melkah (breaks in) 

Another messenger rideth forth. 

jezebel (to the Bull in supplication) 

Ah, send he may prosper and return. Tell me, 
girl, dost thou see Joram ? How fareth he ? 

MELKAH 

Well, O Queen — well. I see his red cloak shin- 
ing right bravely among his captains. 
jezebel 

He is first of all, first of all. Is it not always so? 
Men call me proud. Isn't it not so, girl? 

MELKAH 

Aye, thou hast the pride of a Queen. 
jezebel 

Proud? Proud? Is he not always first? Doth 
he not bear himself royally? Doth he bow to 
any, even to me who gave him light? Is he not 
the man of men whom all envy and admire? 
Shall I not be proud? (More softly.) Because I 
bore him under my heart — because I know how 
small he was and helpless. Because he was the 
546 



JEZEBEL 

only one, my only one — and I the only need 

of his life when he was so small. {Murmur of 

battle dies away here.) 
melkah {coming from window and speaking with 

unexpected sympathy) 

Ah, Jezebel, my heart bleedeth for thee ! 
jezebel {scornfully) 

Bleedeth for me. How, girl, what canst thou 

know of such things ? {Returns to chair and sits 

down.) 

MELKAH 

What can I know? Hast thou forgotten that 
once thou gavest me — to him ? 
jezebel {indifferently) 

To Joram — Aye, I remember. He fancied thee, 
I think. Was it not honor enough for thee? 

MELKAH 

Aye, Queen, too great honor. My child died, 
dost thou remember? Since then I have not 
forgotten the prophecy of the man Elijah. 
jezebel {startled; to herself, in a terrified whisper) 
The prophecy of Elijah! {Then, turning to Mel- 
kah.) Elijah is a prophet of the God of Israel, 
but no God of mine. 

MELKAH 

Who but a fool could believe in a God whom no 
one hath seen, whom no one can name? Who is 
everywhere, in the depths of the sea and the 
ends of the earth, but whom no one hath 
touched ? 

JEZEBEL 

Out on thee, woman, what wouldst thou do to 
me? 

547 



JEZEBEL 



melkah {runs and throws herself at Jezebel's feet) 
I kiss thy feet if thou art enangered, O Queen. 
I would ease thy heart, if thou thinkest of the 
curse as I have thought of it. Hast thou not 
dreamed of this curse in the night-time as I have 
dreamed — 

JEZEBEL 

I have seen it sleeping and waking, sleeping and 
waking — we will not speak of it. (Rises.) 
melkah (standing by chair.) 

Truly, O Queen, it is best to forget. 

JEZEBEL 

Forget! (She paces restlessly about the room, 
speaking with assumed indifference.) Didst 
thou see this Elijah? 

MELKAH 

Aye, Queen, I was a child then. In all these 
years I have not forgotten. 

JEZEBEL 

A madman, I think he was, crying of wrongs 
done. There was a story of some wrong, I think. 

MELKAH 

Aye, Queen — there was a story of wrong. 

JEZEBEL 

I have forgot. (Returning slowly to chair.) 
melkah (leaning over the chair) 

Shall I tell thee the whispers of the people, O 
Queen ? 

JEZEBEL 

Nay, Nay! What have I to do with their whis- 
perings ? 
melkah (with suppressed passion) 

They said thou gavest Naboth, the old man, to 

548 



JEZEBEL 



death because he would not sell his vineyard to 
my lord Ahab, thine husband. 

JEZEBEL 

Naboth! {Laughing in scorn.) Now I do re- 
member. He was in his dotage or else mad. 
My lord was too gracious to him. 

MELKAH 

Aye, he would have given him money for his 
father's acres. 

JEZEBEL 

He haggled with him like a merchant when he 
might have taken his desire like a king. 
melkah {obsequiously and stepping back a little) 
As thou wouldst have done. 

JEZEBEL 

As I would have done! Truly thou sayest well 
— Come hither, girl, come hither. {Laughing 
wildly?) And so I" wrote to the elders and 
nobles and I said, "This Naboth is a blas- 
phemer," and they hired men to bear witness 
against him and he was stoned to death in the 
market-place. It was so simple, so simple. 
{Pauses ', and then slowly ', with clenched hands) 
What sayest thou to that, thou God of Israel? 

MELKAH 

And then, O Queen ? 

JEZEBEL 

And then Ahab went down and took the vine- 
yard of Naboth as was his due. 
melkah {creeping up closer) 

Aye, he went down and took it. And when 
King Ahab was in the vineyard, Elijah came — 
{Leaning near?) Didst thou see him, O Jezebel? 

549 



JEZEBEL 



JEZEBEL 

Aye, I saw him. 
melkah (going back M C step by step as if in fear 
before a frightful vision) 

Ah, Queen, was not his presence a frightful 
thing? It haunteth me in the dark, and is with 
me all day long. Had I not seen him, perchance 
his prophecy would not be to me so black a 
thing. 

JEZEBEL 

Nay, what was there so frightful in him ? I have 
seen beggars whose look offended me more. 

MELKAH 

But the look in his eyes. And he stood like a 
god or the messenger of a god. Canst thou for- 
get, O Queen? (Standing with arms raised^ a 
figure vibrant with passion?) "Hast thou killed 
and also taken possession? In the place where 
dogs licked the blood of Naboth shall dogs lick 
thy blood, even thine. Because thou hast sold 
thyself to work evil in the sight of the Lord I 
will bring evil upon thee and will take away thy 
posterity." 

jezebel (rising) 

Nay — do not make an end. There is more to 
it than that. And when it is finished "the dogs 
shall eat Jezebel by the wall of Jezreel." When 
it is finished — (Walking furiously towards Mel- 
kah.) Why didst thou forget so much, girl? 

melkah (flinging herself at Jezebel's feet) 

O daughter of Kings, look not on me so. All, 
all could I endure but only that. How dared I 
frame it with my tongue? My child is dead. 
What have I to fear from the curse ? (The murmur 

55° 



JEZEBEL 



of distant shouting begins very softly and contin- 
ues during the next few pages.) 
jezebel {thoughtfully) 

Aye, girl, thy child is dead. {Wanders restlessly 
about, Melkah watching her covertly. For a mo- 
ment she stops before the image of the bull, then 
turns impatiently away. Murmur rises to shout- 
ing and the tempo which has again slowed down 
becomes very fast.) Tell me, dost thou see my 
son? 

MELKAH 

The army of Jehu advanceth — Ah, grant the 
curse fall not today. 

JEZEBEL 

Be silent. 

MELKAH 

Nay, be not afraid. Doubtless there will be yet 
many years before my lord, thy son. 

JEZEBEL 

Silence, girl. Wouldst thou slay me? {An- 
other shout. During the following lines the noise 
of distant shouting grows increasingly louder.) 
What passeth without? 

MELKAH 

They are met. They clash in battle, the armies 
of my lord Joram and of Jehu the traitor. 

JEZEBEL 

Seest thou my son ? 

MELKAH 

Aye, Queen, I see him. 

jezebel {rushing to the window behind Melkah) 
Where, Where? 

55 1 



JEZEBEL 



MELKAH 

There among the plunging hosts and the white 
horses. 

JEZEBEL 

I see Tiim not. 

MELKAH 

Dost thou not see the sun on his crown and his 
flashing blade? There, there in the forefront of 
battle. See, they press upon him, they sur- 
round him. 

JEZEBEL 

Nay, nay, there is a mist before my eyes. I see 
naught. {Staggering from the window.) 
melkah {watching her with furtive intensity) 

What, dost thou not even see the red cloak of 
Joram, of Joram the king ? 

JEZEBEL 

Nay, nay, I have told thee, girl. I see naught, 
naught but a cloud of phantoms seething in a 
mist. {Sinks exhaustedly in a chair, her back to 
Melkah. Noise culminates in a great shouting 
and sinks again to a murmur?) 
jezebel {frozen with fear, not turning in her chair) 
How fareth my son? 

MELKAH 

Well, O Queen, well. {Melkah turns from win- 
dow with narrowed eyes on Jezebel, but she speaks 
as though watching the battle below. The murmur 
of shouting rises very softly from the plain?) He 
beareth himself royally, yet alas, how doth he 
defend himself? He is surrounded. Just 
Heavens! He is master of the sword. It is a 
wall of light around him. They attack him on 
all sides. They strike at him — he striketh their 
552 



JEZEBEL 



weapons down and goeth unscathed. Yet how 
can he endure? 

jezebel {speaking with difficulty) 

Do they not bring him succour? Where are his 
captains? {Rising desperately.) Ah, God, were 
I a man! 

MELKAH 

Thou dost well to call on a god. That is wo- 
man's work and help cometh so. Do thou pray 
to the Golden Bull — he belike will help thee. 
{During the following speech the distant shouting 
is almost inaudible.) 

JEZEBEL 

He ? {For a long moment she stands looking up at 
the golden image. Then suddenly she strikes it 
with her hand, half laughing, half shrieking hys- 
terically.) Thou? I strike thee with my hand. 
What then? My hand bleedeth a little. Bah! 
Dost thou destroy me? If I gave thee my heart 
to eat thou wouldst still grin and grin as the 
smith made thee. Thinkest thou I have for- 
gotten how thou wert made of my jewels — the 
jewels King Ahab gave me when I was a bride? 
{She leans close to the bull.) That jewel that is 
thine eye — that sparkled on my bosom once. 
Faugh! Dost think that I do not know that 
they are jewels and not eyes? These I wore in 
my ears. Dost thou think I can believe that 
the goldsmith hath made a god of my vanities? 
{Raises her arms and strikes down the incense jar 
from the stand, stamping upon it. Laughs wildly 
and threatens the beast with her hands.) So much ! 
{Suddenly louder shouting. To Melkah, who has 

553 



JEZEBEL 



crept down from the steps watching her.) To thy 
place, girl. How fareth my son? 
melkah {running to window) 

Surprising well, O Queen. He hath rallied a few 
of his captains about him. Be not dismayed. 
He will yet win to the city gates. 

JEZEBEL 

Oh, if I could see! If I could see! Those cries 
are a thousand daggers stabbing my heart in 
darkness. 
melkah {leaning toward her from the window) 
Think not of them, O Queen. 

JEZEBEL 

Shall I not think of them ? What shall cause me 

to forget? Prayers? Girl, girl, thou hast made 

a mock of me. {Sits in chair. The murmur of 

shouting dies away altogether.) 
melkah {craftily) 

Nay, I would not have spoken, O Queen, but 

that I feared thy wrath, had I said what it was 

in my mind to say. 
jezebel {petulantly) 

Speak, speak. 
melkah {slowly and softly, watching Jezebel) 

In old days I used to think the God of Israel 

would answer prayer. 

JEZEBEL 

The God of Israel! 

MELKAH 

Nay, do not listen to those voices of the slain 
priests, close thine ears to them. 

JEZEBEL 

I hear them. 

554 



JEZEBEL 



MELKAH 

But they were servants of a God who was not 
thy God, O Queen. Indeed, indeed, thou didst 
right to order their deaths. 

JEZEBEL 

There were fifty of them. 

MELKAH 

Aye, fifty all told, but they spoke the truth un- 
wisely; they prophesied unwisely. They spoke 
against thee, O Queen, and how may a state 
endure when tongues wag against its Queen ? 

JEZEBEL 

True, they were unwise. (In a half-whisper to 
herself.) But doth He think of that, I wonder? 

MELKAH 

Perhaps he doth. I think he doth, O Queen. 
Do thou call thy name to him and he will not 
forget thee. 
jezebel (she does not notice the half-hidden mockery. 
A pause, and then dully) 

Aye, so be it. . Keep thou good watch, girl, and 
tell me what befalleth. 

MELKAH 

O Queen, I will. 

{Jezebel rises , starts toward the bull, covers her 
eyes as from some horror and crosses to the oppo- 
site side. Kneels, head bowed on her arms. Si- 
lence, except for the distant shouting which begins 
again very softly. Melkah creeps from window 
watching her.) 

jezebel (in a low voice, not moving) 
They cry very loud. 

555 



JEZEBEL 



MELKAH 

It is the noise of battle. 
jezebel (dully) 

Nay, nay, it is the voices of the slain priests. I 

can not hear my praying for their cries. They 

cry to God against me. 
melkah {from behind, bending over her malignantly) 

Look up to Heaven, God will hear thee. 
jezebel (raising her head slowly. Her senses are 

dulled. She is conscious only of the turmoil raging 

within. Her eyes fall on the bull) 

Nay, that way standeth the Golden Bull like a 

sign across the sky. I can not see God's face for 

the glitter of trivial things. 

MELKAH 

Call to Him. He will forget the slain priests and 
the golden idols. (Very slowly.) He is merciful. 

JEZEBEL 

Merciful. (Rising, her pride stung to life.) What 
have I to do with mercy? Shall I, who have 
given life and death, ask mercy? (Restlessly.) 
Bah! Mercy is the talk of weaklings and chil- 
dren. 

MELKAH 

Aye, it is true. (Pauses, and, then ventures with 
malice) The little daughter of Naboth prayed 
to thee for mercy, O Queen. 
jezebel (turning sharply) 
How dost thou know that? 

MELKAH 

I have heard it said. 
jezebel (pausing with her hand before her eyes) 
No matter, no matter. (Half to herself) I had 
thought that none knew that. 
556 



JEZEBEL 



MELKAH 

Surely thou hast forgotten so small a thing. 

JEZEBEL 

Forgotten! (Laughs oddly.) Doth one then 
forget? She was very small, not so old as my 
son — so small. I struck her, I believe. 

MELKAH 

That, too, was justice — the daughter of one 
whom thou hadst condemned. 

jezebel {laughing) 

Aye, that was justice. {The murmur from the 
plain, which has been increasing in volume, rises 
to a great shouting?) 

jezebel {frantically) 

What is that? {Again the sudden rise to very fast 
tempo?) 

melkah {runs to the window) 

Alas, alas, King Joram is down — no, no, he 
holdeth his own. Ah, dear God, his men desert 
him — he is alone among his enemies. {With 
wild exultation?) Pray thou for him, O Queen, 
pray to God for him or he is indeed lost. 

jezebel {raising her arms frantically) 

Pray to God! Fool! God hath spoken his jus- 
tice against me. And when it is finished, ''The 
dogs shall eat Jezebel by the walls of Jezreel." 
Doth He forget? Dost thou think he hath for- 
gotten that I have slain His priests and blas- 
phemed against His name? Have / forgotten? 
Shall I cry against his justice for mercy? {She 
sinks exhausted into a chair, cowering and tremb- 
ling convulsively. The tempo grows slower and 
slower through the next lines until entrance of mes- 
senger?) I would do as He hath done, if I were 
557 



JEZEBEL 



He and had power without limit. I would do it. 
I would have no thought of mercy. Why, then, 
should he ? Shall I ask for mercy and be denied 
— I, Jezebel, the Queen? 

MELKAH 

Nay, 'tis not for thyself thou shouldst ask 
mercy, O Queen, but for the King, thy son. 

JEZEBEL {softly) 

"Because thou hast sold thyself to work in- 
iquity I will bring evil upon thee, and {hardly 
above her breath) I will take away thy posterity." 

MELKAH 

My child died, O Queen. 
jezebel {furiously) 

Thy child! What of mine? 

{The curtain, R, is flung aside, the sound of 
shouting increases, and a messenger enters, breath- 
lessly, and flings himself down before Jezebel. 
Fast tempo, which continues until the song.) 

messenger 

Alas! O Queen, the King's army is fled. {A 
short pause. Jezebel stands as though turned to 
stone.) 

JEZEBEL 

What sayest thou? 

MESSENGER 

My lord Joram's captains have fled before the 

enemy. 
jezebel {speaking with difficulty in a strange voice) 

And the King? What of him? 
messenger 

The King! {Jezebel sways uncertainly?) Look 

558 



JEZEBEL 



to thy mistress, girl, she is ill. {Melkah does not 
stir.) 
jezebel {hoarsely) 

What of the King? Speak, fool! 

MESSENGER 

King Joram is taken prisoner in the hands of his 
enemies. 

JEZEBEL 

How knowest thou this? 

MESSENGER 

I stood by the King's orders in the gate of the 

city and saw it befall as I have said. 
jezebel {raising her arms in futile passion) 

Traitors ! Cowards ! 
melkah {speaking slowly in emphatic contrast to the 

others) 

What of Jehu? 

MESSENGER 

He is riding into the city with his army, bring- 
ing King Joram with him. 

JEZEBEL 

Will he come here, thinkest thou? 

MESSENGER 

I fear so, O Jezebel. 

JEZEBEL 

Fear! Fear! {Thinks a minute?) We thank 
thee for thy good service. Now get thee gone. 
Bid them open the great doors of the palace and 
receive Jehu, the captain, in my name. And 
tell my musician, the lute player, I would have 
him play softly, here behind the curtains, love 
songs of the ancient gods and heroes. It is my 
command. 

559 



JEZEBEL 



MESSENGER 

I obey. {He withdraws to doorway ', pauses.) I 
crave thy pardon, O Queen. 
jezebel {impatiently) 
Speak, speak. 

MESSENGER 

Would it not be well, O Queen — a small guard — 
behind the curtain? 

JEZEBEL 

Are there still any who will serve me? 

MESSENGER 

There are a few men in the palace, O Queen. 

JEZEBEL 

Then a guard, an armed guard — behind the cur- 
tain, there, with all the speed thou knowest, Go! 

MESSENGER 

I obey. {Exit. After exit of messenger shouting 
gradually dies away.) 

JEZEBEL 

My robe and crown, Melkah. The jewels and 
the ointment for my face. {Melkah goes to table.) 
Quick, girl, quickly. Thou must paint me a 
new image in the mirror — young as I once was 
— and of a beauty to find favor in the eyes of 
Jehu. 

melkah {brings robe, puts it about Jezebel's shoul- 
ders and then steps away a few feet. Anxiously?) 
Most gracious Queen, what hast thou in thy 
mind to do? 

jezebel {with a hard, excited laugh) 

Do? Am I then so old that I may not be loved? 
What, girl, didst thou not say that this Jehu 
boasted of my love? Is it not a wine a man 
560 



JEZEBEL 



may be drunk withal? The crown, girl. I would 
receive him meetly. 
melkah {speaking with real feeling) 

Queen, thou knowest not what thou dost. 

JEZEBEL 

Do I not? Do I not? {She laughs strangely.) 
Come near me, girl — near to me. Didst thou 
hear what he said? 

MELKAH 

Aye, Queen. 

JEZEBEL 

They are bringing my son in — a captive — to the 
city of his fathers — a captive. 

MELKAH 

Alas, it is true. 

JEZEBEL 

Shall I not win his safety for him ? 
melkah {eagerly) 

Alas, how can that be? 

JEZEBEL 

My jewels, girl — bring them to me. The emer- 
alds like green eyes. {As Melkah brings the jew- 
els, the sound of a harp softly touched sounds from 
behind the curtain , R.) Here, clasp them about 
my neck — so. I will bring love back into his 
heart. I will make it a flame to devour him — 
and when he shall lie half fainting at my feet he 
will give me again the life of my son. {Raising 
her clenched hands in exultant defiance?) Aye, in 
the teeth of thy prophets, O thou God of Israel, 

1 will have back the life of my son. 
melkah {softly from behind her) 

And what of that armed guard behind the cur- 
tain ? 

561 



JEZEBEL 



jezebel (with slow, exultant cruelty) 

When he hath released to me my son — then they 
shall speak. (Melkah, standing behind her, 
draws a dagger from her bosom with swift, menac- 
ing gesture, then slowly, hesitantly, slips it back 
again.) Look thou behind the curtains. Are 
they in readiness ? (Melkah crosses R and holds 
curtain back for Jezebel to see. Melkah comes 
slowly back.) It is well. Now the ointment, girl. 

(She sits in chair. As Melkah kneels to paint 
Jezebel 's face a voice is heard singing behind the 
curtain. While the song is being sung, Melkah 
anoints Jezebel's arms and feet, perfumes her hair 
and clothes, paints her lips and eyes, etc. This 
should be done with ceremony and unhurriedly?) 

Song 

I have sought her all the night among the dark 

streets of the city. 
Her for whose sake sleep hath forsaken me. 
In the morning I spoke to the watchman at the 

gates. 
I asked him, "Hast thou seen her for whose sake 

sleep hath forsaken me?" 
The hair of my love is as the cedars of Lebanon, 

the black cedars of Lebanon: 
Her eyes shine between her locks like stars 

among trees, 
The blood of slain doves hath stained her 

narrow lip, 
And her neck is white as the roses of Sharon in 

the dawn. 



562 



JEZEBEL 



JEZEBEL 

That will suffice. (Melkah puts back the oint- 
ments. As the song stops, the noise of triumphant 
shouting commences and continues to the end.) 
Tell me what passeth without. 

melkah (in window, looking off, R) 

They are moving under the gate into the city. 
O Queen. 

jezebel (hoarsely) 

Dost thou — see — Joram? 

melkah (her voice quivering with passionate excite- 
ment) 

Aye, I see him. I see his red cloak clearly. (A 
louder shout. After the song is over, the tempo 
should be kept very slow up to this point and then 
very fast?) What is that? (Running down from 
steps.) Nay, nay, it cannot be true. 

JEZEBEL 

What is it? What seest thou? 

MELKAH 

O Queen, yon messenger lied to thee. 
jezebel (trembling) 
Lied to me? 

MELKAH 

All is not lost. King Joram is riding back at the 
head of his men. It is Jehu that walketh in 
chains. 

jezebel (rising) 

Jehu in chains! Ah, God, that I should live to 
hear those words! Girl, thou art slaying me 
with joy. Is it true? Look again. I could not 
live if it were false. 

5 6 3 



JEZEBEL 



melkah {running back to window) 

True, Jezebel, as I live. Thou hast arrayed thy- 
self for thy victorious son, not Jehu the traitor. 

JEZEBEL 

Why, it can not be true. What have I ever done 
that God should repent his words against me? 

MELKAH 

Belike thou hast loved thy son. 

JEZEBEL 

Loved him — Aye, I have loved him, and none 
other — all my life — none other. {Very softly.) 
He grew to life in my life, to childhood in my 
arms, to manhood under my care — Aye, belike 
I have loved him. God! God! I can ask Thy 
mercy for him. Dost Thou care for love, O 
Thou stern God? {She is weeping softly, hys- 
terically. Melkah in the window watches her 
with almost fiendish malignity.) 
melkah {holding herself calm with difficulty) 

He rideth into the streets like a King, bearing 
himself proudly. Now he hath gone around the 
edge of the palace. I cannot see him now. He 
will be here soon. 

JEZEBEL 

Aye, he will come to me here — to me — I shall 
hold him in my arms whom I thought was dead. 
He was dead and is come alive again. 

MELKAH 

He is coming, O Queen, he is coming. {Eagerly, 
running to Jezebel.) Shall I not send the guard 
to meet him with honor? 

JEZEBEL 

Aye, send them that he may know there are still 
faithful men among us. 
564 



JEZEBEL 



(Melkah steps behind curtains , R, for a moment \ 
and then back to window?) 

jezebel (pacing up and down, half crying, half 

laughing) 

My son, my son ! O God of Israel, I thank Thee 

if indeed Thou hast brought him back to me. 

But, indeed, I think it was his own valor that 

made him victor. 
melkah (from the window) 

I have sent them forth. 

JEZEBEL 

It is well. Melkah, Melkah, he is returning to 
me! 
melkah (in a low voice, following Jezebel with cruel 
eyes) 
Aye, Queen. (The shouting rises for an instant.) 

JEZEBEL 

Hear them shout! The people love him so. 
melkah (with irony) 
Aye, so they do. 

JEZEBEL 

How canst thou be so calm, girl? 

melkah (with rising excitement) 

I was thinking that belike he, too, had for- 
gotten me. (Shouting dies away.) 

jezebel (stopping, D L) 
He, too? 

melkah (swift and catlike comes D C) 

As thou dost, daughter of Kings! (With pas- 
sionate calm?) Thou hast forgotten that it was I 
who prayed to thee for mercy long since. Thou 
hast forgotten it was I whom thy hand struck — 

565 



JEZEBEL 



years on years ago when I was a child. {The 
tempo quickens again.) 
jezebel {her face filling with horror) 
Thou! What art thou? 

MELKAH 

Thou hast almost forgotten that Naboth had a 
daughter! 
jezebel {almost shrieking) 

Thou the daughter of Naboth! 

MELKAH 

Aye, of Naboth whom thou hadst slain — by 
false witnesses. 
jezebel {whispering) 

The daughter of Naboth. 

MELKAH 

He died — with blood on his. white hair — stoned 
to death in the market-place. I saw it. I have 
never forgotten. 

jezebel {dully) 

I, too, have never forgotten. 

melkah {her excitement at fever heat) 

And yet, yet I can be glad that thy son re- 
turneth to thee. {Shouting outside.) Hark! 
He cometh even now — he cometh. I rejoice 
that thy son is returned to thee. {She laughs 
wildly. The shouts grow nearer and nearer. 
Jezebel faces the door from D L y with a presenti- 
ment of coming evil. Melkah, C, faces door back- 
ing down towards Jezebel and speaks in rising 
voice with unutterable triumph^) He returneth 
to thee, O Queen — returneth to thee. 

{The curtain, R, is drawn back. Great shouting 
outside — "Make way for Jehu." Jehu comes in 
566 



JEZEBEL 



from R, trailing the red cloak of Joram in his 
hand and wearing Joram' 's crown. Two slaves 
wait at the door. There is an instant's silence. 
Jezebel stands rigid, swaying slightly. Then 
Melkah creeps to the feet of Jehu, kissing his hand. 
The tempo grows slow.) 

MELKAH 

Thou art come, O Jehu, my beloved. {His eyes 
are on the Queen.) 

JEZEBEL 

My son — {It is all she can say.) 

JEHU 

— Is dead. {He raises the cloak, flinging it D C.) 

{Jezebel walks slowly over; she stoops wearily after 
a moment and with a low, crooning moan, gathers 
the cloak in her arms as though it were the body of 
her dead son. She straightens up, the red cloak 
trailing from her side, and looks at Melkah?) 

jezebel {laughing oddly) 

Thou hast even sent the guard away. 

JEHU 

Will no one take this woman for me, or must I 
take her with my own hands? 

{The two slaves start forward, one up stage and one 
down. Jezebel steps quickly onto the step of 
the window. They hesitate. Melkah watches, 
crouched at Jehu's feet?) 

JEZEBEL 

Are ye so impatient? God moveth only once 
and then it is done. It will be all over in a mo- 
ment. 

567 



JEZEBEL 



JEHU 

Seize her ! 

{The slaves advance. Jezebel steps back into the 
window.) 

JEZEBEL 

Nay, nay. {At the ring of command in her voice 
the slaves hesitate again. Then to Jehu.) Once 
thou couldst have had me for — a word, but thou 
wouldst not. Now thou shalt not. Take her 
who was the concubine of the King, my son — 
my son — take her. {She throws back her head, 
laughing^) Now I have finished my life. What 
sayest thou, girl? Have I asked for mercy? 
{She raises her arms like a prophet.) "When it is 
finished, the dogs shall eat Jezebel by the walls 
of Jezreel." {Holding the cloak close to her left 
side.) Well, it is finished, — {she turns to the 
right , half 'facing the window) now! 

JEHU 

Seize her! 

{The men advance on her to foot of steps. As 
they put out their hands to take her she raises her 
arm, stopping them again by her tremendous pres- 
ence , and, facing the audience, the cloak held close 
in her arms she takes the last step back.) 

JEZEBEL 

Have I asked mercy, O Thou God of Israel? 

{She flings herself out of the window. Melkah 
starts forward with a terrible indrawn scream of 
horror. The two slaves leap quickly forward, lean 
out, looking down, and fall back on each side of the 
568 



JEZEBEL 



window as Jehu rushes to the top of the steps. This 
happens almost instantaneously. Then the slaves 
stand stiffly and indifferently on each side of the 
window, and Jehu turns slowly away from it.) 

JEHU 

So passeth Israel's beauty. She was betrayed 
of her gods, who gave her pride and moulded 
her in woman's form. Let her lie where she hath 
fallen, lest the prophecy go unfulfilled. {Comes 
down from window and seats himself in the chair. 
Melkah crouches at his feet.) Lord God, now am 
I King of Israel as thou hast ordained. 

The light fades out and the curtain falls on the 
darkened stage. 



569 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 

(A sequel to "Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil") 
by Stuart Walker 



First produced at the Murat Theatre, Indianapolis, 
June 24, 1 921, with the following cast: 

Prologue to the Performance, Tom Powers 
The Prologue, - Edwin Noel 

The Device-Bearer, - - James Morgan 
you-in-the-audience, - - you and others 



The Population, 

The Soldiery, 

The Mime, - 

The Milkmaid, 

The Blindman, - 

The Ballad-Singer, 

The King's Trumpeter, 

His Majesty, The King, - 

The King's Councillor, 

The King's Great-Aunt, - 

The Headsman, - 

Her Majesty, The Queen, 

Sir David Little-Boy, 

His Mother, - 



Aldrich Bowker 
John Wray 
Oscar Davisson 
Helen Burch 
Walter Vonnegut 
Stuart Walker 
Oakley Richey 
George Somnes 
Robert McGroarty 
Elizabeth Patterson 
McKay Morris 
Judith Lowry 
Robert Masters 
Blanche Yurka 



The Scene is a gateway to the King's Castle. 
The Time is when you will. 

Scenery designed by Stuart Walker and Oakley Richey. 

Costumes by Frank J. Zimmerer and Wilmot Heitland. 

Properties by Frank J. Zimmerer. 



Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

This play is fully protected by copyright. All public perform- 
ances are forbidden. All dramatic and producing rights 
are retained by Stuart Walker, who may be addressed at 
304 Carnegie Hall, New York City. 



An Outline of Six Who Pass While the 
Lentils Boil 

While the Boy watches boiling lentils for his Mother, 
six people pass: The condemned Queen, whom he 
promises to hide until after the hour set for her 
decapitation; the Mime, who tempts him to leave 
his duty; the Milkmaid, who tells him of the 
reward offered for the Queen and makes him wish 
he had not made a promise; the Blindman, who 
shows him why it is best to keep a promise; the 
Ballad- Singer, who would rather wander all his 
life than break a promise; and the dreadful 
Headsman who, outwitted by the Boy, finds the 
Queen too late. Her Majesty gratefully knights 
Sir David Little-Boy and takes him in state to 
the Kings castle. He is free to go, because by 
this time the lentils have boiled. He has done his 
duty and he has kept his promise. 



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574 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

{The Prologue and the Device-Bearer enter?) 

PROLOGUE 

I am the Prologue. He is the Device-Bearer. 
I am here to tell you about the play that hides 
behind these curtains. He serves the simple 
purpose of balancing me as a decoration. 
{The Prologue claps his hands and the Device- 
Bearer sits at the side of the stage and henceforth 
is nothing more than a small part of the picture?) 
It is possible that something difficult may creep 
into this simple play. If there is anything you 
do not understand I shall be glad to explain it 
to you. 
you {in audience) 

While the play is going on? 

PROLOGUE 

Of course. 

YOU 

That will be disturbing. 

PROLOGUE 

Why? If one must talk in the theater every- 
body ought to be allowed to hear. 
Now the interesting thing about this play is 
that it isn't true at all. It is all make-believe. 
Nobody in it ever was, and, unless you do your 
part, no one in it ever will be. 

YOU 

What can we do? 

575 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 



PROLOGUE 

Believe. 

YOU 

I can't believe what isn't real. 

PROLOGUE 

Then make it real. . . . Here are the cur- 
tains. They divide you and them. . . . You 
are real, perhaps, and they are make-believe, 
surely. When these curtains open will you 
come here, shall they go there, or will you, both 
you and they, forget everything except the 
play? 

So, remove your hats, dear ladies, fix your hair 
once and for all. Clear your throats, you 
husky men, and cough now, for the play be- 
gins. Amongst you there are some so young, 
so eternally young, that they will soon be lost 
in the story. Do not disturb them if you have 
forgotten how to play. So, remove your hats, 
dear ladies, fix your hair for good and all. 
Clear your throats, you husky men, and cough 
now. See, the play begins. 
(He claps his hands and the curtains open, dis- 
closing the scene.) 

This play is the story of what happens when 
one is guilty of a breach of etiquette. 

YOU 

What is etiquette? 

PROLOGUE 

Etiquette? Why, etiquette is living according 
to rules made by people who have never smiled. 



576 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

. . . We are now outside the King's Palace. 
. . . This is a gate. Through this the King 
and the King's Great-Aunt will come. The 
King will sit here, and the King's Great-Aunt 
will sit here. . . . This is the Headsman's 
block, and here the lovely Queen is to be be- 
headed before the clocks strike twelve at mid- 
day, a half an hour from now. 

YOU 

Where is it? 

PROLOGUE 

Who can tell what country? I wish I knew. 
. . . Are you ready? . . . Quiet, then. 
. . . Here comes the Population; and here 
the Soldiery. 

(The Prologue sits at She side of the curtains oppo- 
site the Device-Bearer '.) 

(The Population enters from one side of the 
stage, the Soldiery from the other; the former 
carries a bit of bread; the latter a lance and a 
silken cord.) 

POPULATION 

Good-morning, Soldiery. 

SOLDIERY 

Good-morning, Population. 

POPULATION 

I've come to see the beheading. 

SOLDIERY 

You're early. 

POPULATION 

I brought my lunch. I want to see it all. 

577 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

SOLDIERY 

That's good. Now help me stretch the ropes 
to keep the Population back. 

POPULATION 

Why stretch the ropes to keep the Population 
back? 

SOLDIERY 

It is the law. 

POPULATION 

I'm the Population, and I promise that I'll 
stay back. 

SOLDIERY 

The Soldiery has always stretched the ropes to 

hold the Population back. I shan't stop it 

now, whether you number one or thousands. 

Here, take this end and stretch the rope. 

(He sets his lance against the blocks and he and 

the Population stretch the rope, laying it very 

carefully on the ground in a half -circle?) 
soldiery (taking up his lance and assuming a 

professional pose, bellows) 

You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of 

death. Do you hear? 
population (obsequiously, kneeling) 

Yes, sir. 
soldiery (setting down his lance and assuming a 

human tone) 

Thank you for your help. 

POPULATION 

That's all right. 

(He offers the Soldiery a crust of bread, which is 

gratefully accepted?) 

578 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

{Indeed, the Soldiery is a very excellent and 
human person, and his fierce attitude with the 
lance and his bellowing are merely official, like a 
uniform, and as easily removed. But the Sol- 
diery has associated bellowing with taking up his 
lance so long that he is wholly automatic now, as 
he should be.) 

POPULATION 

Who are they beheading? 

SOLDIERY 

What did you say? 

POPULATION 

I said, "Who are they beheading?" 

SOLDIERY 

Whom? 

POPULATION 

Yes, who? 

SOLDIERY 

You mustn't say "Who are they beheading?" 
You must say "Whom are they beheading?" 

POPULATION 

Nonsense. You don't say "Whom are you," 
do you? 

SOLDIERY 

Certainly not, but you ought to say "Whom 
are they beheading?" 

POPULATION 

Well, you can — 
soldiery {taking up his lance, bellows) 
You say "Whom are they beheading!" 

579 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

POPULATION 

All right, if you are going to resort to force: 
Whom are they beheading? 
soldiery {putting his lance down) 

I don't know. That's the Headsman's business. 

POPULATION 

I heard it was the Queen. 

SOLDIERY 

May/fe. I wish it was the King's Great-Aunt. 
(The Mime and the Milkmaid enter.) 

POPULATION 

Is the King's Great-Aunt very old? 

SOLDIERY 

She's very old and very meddlesome. She's 
into everything, and she knows every law that's 
ever passed, and she holds us to them. 
(The Mime steps forward.) 

MIME 

Is this — 
soldiery {seeing him and the Milkmaid for the first 
time, leaps for his lance and, assuming his pro- 
fessional pose, bellows) 

You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of 
death! Do you hear? 
(There is no answer.) 
(Bellows again) 

You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of 
death! Do you hear? 

(There is no answer. The Soldiery looks appeal- 
ingly at the Population) 
Do you hear? 

580 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

{Again no answer, and again an appeal to the 
Population) 
Do you hear? 
population {to the Milkmaid) 
Say "Yes, sir." 

MIME AND MILKMAID 

Yes, sir. 
soldiery {putting down his lance) 

Why didn't you answer me the first time? 

MILKMAID 

I didn't know you wanted me to. 

SOLDIERY 

Well, I did. 

MILKMAID 

But you shouted so loud I thought you weren't 
talking to anybody in particular. 

SOLDIERY 

It's the law. 
mime {to the Population) 

Some laws are funny, don't you think? 

POPULATION 

I don't know. A law's a law, and I'm the Pop- 
ulation, and a law is for the Population. 

MIME 

And now we know! 

SOLDIERY 

Who are you? 

MIME 

I'm a mime. 

POPULATION 

What's a mime? 

5 8i 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

MIME 

A mime's a mime. 

SOLDIERY 

What's a mime ? 

MIME 

A mime's a mountebank. 

MILKMAID 

And what's a mountebank? 

MIME 

A mountebank's a strolling player. 

SOLDIERY 

Are you going to perform for us? 

MIME 

After the decapitation. 

POPULATION 

What's your name? 
mime {in action) 

Ho, for Jack the Juggler! Would you miss him? 

SOLDIERY 

We know all the rest of that. 

MILKMAID 

You must let him finish. 

SOLDIERY 

What's the use? 

POPULATION 

Let's have it, Jack. 

MIME 

How can I when you do not let me make my 
speech? 

MILKMAID 

Go on, we'll let you finish. 
582 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

MIME 

Oh, no. I'll wait until the crowd is here. 

POPULATION 

I'm the crowd. 

MILKMAID 

Come on ! Come on ! 

MIME 

All right. . . . Ho, for Jack the Juggler! 
Would you miss him — 

(A cry is heard, "Help the blind! Help the 
blind!" and on top of it just the refrain "Old 
King Cole was a merry old soul.") 
(The Soldiery is on his guard immediately with 
his lance as the Blindman and the Ballad-Singer 
enter.) 
soldiery (bellowing) 

You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of 
death! Do you hear? 

MILKMAID 

You'd better say, "Yes, sir," or he'll yell it 
again. 
soldiery (begins to bellow again) 
You can't — 

BALLAD-SINGER AND BLINDMAN 

Yes, sir. 
soldiery (normally) 

I've got to finish it — (and again starts) come 
inside — 

MIME 

We know the rest of it. 

SOLDIERY 

Don't interfere with the law. (Continues bellow- 

583 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

ing) The ropes on pain of death! Do you 

hear? 
all {eagerly) 

Yes, sir! 
soldiery {putting down his lance) 

Thank you. . . . What are you doing here? 

MILKMAID 

I came to see the beheading. 

BLINDMAN 

And I, that I might tell about it. 

SINGER 

And I, that I might sing to the crowd. 

MIME 

And I, that I might dazzle you. 

POPULATION 

Everybody's here — except the Queen. Why 
not begin? 

MILKMAID 

They can't find the Queen. 

POPULATION 

Where is she? 

MILKMAID 

They've offered a reward for her — 

POPULATION 

A reward? 

MIME 

How much? 

MILKMAID 

A pail of gold and a pair of finger-rings. 

POPULATION 

Why don't you find her, Soldiery? 
584 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

SOLDIERY 

No one told me to. 

BLINDMAN 

You say the reward is a pail of gold and a pair 
of finger-rings ? 

SINGER 

That's what she said. I know — 
soldiery {taking up his lance) 
What do you know? 

BLINDMAN 

Nothing. 

SINGER 

Nothing. 

SOLDIERY 

But you said "I know." Is it about the Queen? 
What do you know about the Queen? 

SINGER 

Shall I sing you a ballad? 

POPULATION 

Yes, sing a ballad. 

SOLDIERY 

What do you know about the Queen? 

MILKMAID 

Oh, let him sing a ballad. 

SOLDIERY 

I must do my duty. What do you know about 

the Queen ? 

{The King's Trumpeter enters and stands at the 

center of the gate. He blows a noble blast on his 

trumpet?) 

585 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 



TRUMPETER 

His Majesty, the King! 

(All kneel except the Trumpeter as the King 
enters , followed by his Councillor?) 
{The Trumpeter blows a lesser blast?) 
Her Highness, the King's Great- Aunt. 
(The King's Great- Aunt enters.) 
(She and the King seat themselves ceremoniously?) 
(The Councillor bows between the King and the 
Kings Great-Aunt?) 

(A mechanical chant is the official way of con- 
ducting cases here, and a man must learn by rote 
what he must say at trials, be he King or Coun- 
cillor?) 

councillor (in a stiff, mechanical chant) 

Your Majesty, it is our duty to inform you 
that your wife, the Queen, is to be beheaded, 
in compliance with the law, while your Majesty's 
four clocks are striking twelve. 

king (chanting) 
Who is the aggrieved person? 

councillor (chanting) 

The aggrieved sits on your left. 

milkmaid (whispering) 

Doesn't the King know his wife is to be be- 
headed ? 

population (whispering) 
Of course he does. 

MILKMAID 

Then why do they tell him here? 

POPULATION 

It is the law. 

586 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

soldiery (bellowing^ after he is quite sure he has 

heard the entire conversation) 

Silence! 
king {chanting) 

Then let the aggrieved speak. 
councillor {chanting) 

His Majesty the King bids you speak your 

grievance which is just cause for the Queen's 

beheading. 
king's great-aunt {chanting) 

Last night we were celebrating the second year 

of peace with the neighboring kingdom. We 

were dancing the minuet after the banquet — 
milkmaid {whispering) 

Does the old lady dance? 
population {whispering) 

She tries to. 
soldiery {bellowing) 

Silence! 
king's great-aunt 

When the Queen — {forgetting to chant) your 

wife — 

{The Councillor coughs and she chants again) 

stepped on the ring-toe of the King's Greats 

Aunt. 
king {chanting) 

What is your demand? 
king's great-aunt {chanting) 

I demand that the aforesaid Queen be beheaded. 
king 

By what authority? 

587 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

king's great-aunt 
According to the law. 

KING 

Is there such a law? 

COUNCILLOR 

There is. 

KING 

Read the law. 

councillor {unrolling a parchment \ reads) 

Whereas, if a Queen step on the ring-toe of the 
King's Great-Aunt, or any member of her 
family; Be it resolved, the aforesaid Queen 
must be beheaded while the King's four clocks 
are striking twelve at mid-day. 

king's great-aunt 

I demand the execution of the law. 

king 

We, the King, decree that our wife the Queen 
be beheaded to-day while our four clocks are 
striking twelve at mid-day. 

COUNCILLOR 

The culprit will kneel. 
milkmaid (whispering) 

Where is the culprit? 
soldiery (bellowing) 

Silence! 

(Naturally) She isn't here. 
king (rising) 

It is not in our power to pardon you, oh, guilty 

Queen. Gracefulness is a royal possession, and 

when a Queen is no longer graceful she can no 

longer live. 

588 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

king's great-aunt {naturally) 
The Queen isn't here. 

KING 

The law will take its course. 

KING'S GREAT-AUNT 

Where is the Queen ? 

COUNCILLOR 

I've offered a pail of gold and a pair of finger- 
rings for her apprehension. 
king's great-aunt 
Two pails of gold if she is found! 

BLINDMAN 

Is that a promise, your Highness? 

soldiery (bellows) 
Silence! 

{Normally) Royalty can't take back any state- 
ments. 

king's great-aunt 
I mean — 

KING 

We heard what you said. We shall judge what 

you meant. 
councillor 

It is on the stroke of twelve, your Majesty, and 

there is no Queen, no culprit. 
king's great-aunt 

Are the laws of our country to be held up to 

ridicule? Find the Queen! Four pails of gold 

if she be found! 

(The kneeling commoners are excited?) 

Six pails of gold and six pairs of finger-rings ! 

(The King's clocks begin to strike, but not in 

589 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

unison. First there is one large one, then two 
smaller ones, and finally a tiny one.) 
{During the striking of the clocks there is great 
excitement. The spectators almost forget their 
manners before royalty. The Councillor buzzes 
around. The King's Great-Aunt cries out again 
and again , "Where is the Queen?" "Where is 
the culprit?" The Soldiery y lance in hand, bel- 
lows his familiar call, "You cant come inside the 
ropes." The Trumpeter blows his trumpet. The 
King stands up and counts the strokes of the 
clocks.) 
king {at the twelfth stroke of the tiny clock) 
The Queen is free! I now decree a holiday to 
all the land. And everybody can go to hunt 
the Queen. 

SINGER 

And if I find the Queen I shall get six pails of 
gold and six pairs of finger-rings ? 

MILKMAID 

That was the promise of the King's Great- 
Aunt. 

SOLDIERY 

Silence! 

king's great-aunt 
I said — 

king 

You said just that. The King's Great-Aunt will 
give six pails of gold and six pairs of finger- 
rings to the one who finds the Queen. 

king's great-aunt 
I refuse — 

59° 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

KING 

Royalty cannot refuse to fulfill a promise! 
And to the offer of my aunt I shall add six 
more pails of gold. 

BLINDMAN 

Can they behead the Queen now if they find 
her? 

KING 

They can not. 

BLINDMAN 

Then I can find her, your Majesty. 

KING 

Where is she? Come here and tell me. 

(As the Blindman steps forward, the Soldiery 

bellows "You can't come inside the roj>es") 

KING 

Come here! 

COUNCILLOR 

He cannot approach your Majesty. ... It 
is the law. 

SINGER 

I can find the Queen, your Majesty! 
king's great-aunt 

Off with their worthless heads! They have 
aided the escape of the culprit! 

KING 

No, I decree — 
king's great-aunt 
The law! The law! 

COUNCILLOR 

Her Highness is right, your Majesty. The law 

59 i 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

states that anyone guilty of aiding a culprit to 
escape must be beheaded. 

SINGER 

We did not aid. 

BLINDMAN 

No, we did not. 
king's great-aunt 
The word of a commoner cannot stand. 

COUNCILLOR 

Soldiery, do your duty! 
king's great-aunt 

Now, we shall have a beheading after all! 
soldiery {to Singer and Blindman) 

Come on, step up! 

MILKMAID 

Mercy, have mercy! 

SOLDIERY 

Step up. 

{The Ballad-Singer and the Blindman walk to 
the side of the block and there the Soldiery binds 
them together, all the while they protest their in- 
noce7ue.) 

{At this moment the Headsman is heard, "Her 
Majesty the Queen and Sir David Little-Boy, 
Her Majesty the Queen and Sir David Little- 
Boyr) 

{The Headsman, bearing his ax, enters in his 
own stately way, and with the utmost dignity 
starts to approach the King, but as he nears the 
rope, the Soldiery bellows his command, "You 
can't come inside the ropes." The Headsman 
stops short, but slays the Soldiery with a glance?) 
592 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

HEADSMAN 

The King's Headsman, the Winder of the King's 
Four Clocks — 

SOLDIERY 

You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of 
death. Do you hear? 

HEADSMAN 

Yes, I hear. {Then he calls with refined dignity) 
Her Majesty the Queen and Sir David Little- 
Boy! 

(The Queen and the Boy enter. The hoy suddenly 
becomes very conscious of being in the presence of 
the King.) 
king's great-aunt 
Oh, there you are! 

KING 

My Queen! 

COUNCILLOR 

It is not etiquette, your Majesty. 
king {recalling the proper procedure, chants) 

Who is this before us? 
queen (chanting) 

It is your wife, the Queen. 
king 

And who stands beside our Queen? 

BOY 

I'm— 

SOLDIERY 

Silence! 

QUEEN 

This is Sir David Little-Boy. 
593 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

COUNCILLOR 

There is no Sir David Little-Boy in the royal 
almanac, your Majesty. 

KING 

Who is this Sir David Little-Boy, Sir Heads- 
man? 

HEADSMAN 

He helped the Queen to escape. 

BLINDMAN 

Is that the little boy who gave me the lentils 
when I was hungry, and who would not break 
a promise? 

SINGER 

It's the little boy to whom I sang two ballads. 

BOY 

Queen, why are my two friends bound to- 
gether ? 

QUEEN 

Sir David, first we must tell them who you are. 
boy (stepping forward) 
I— 

HEADSMAN 

Address the King. 

BOY 

King— 

HEADSMAN 

That's not the way. 

BOY 

What do I do? 

HEADSMAN 

Watch me. (He struts forward and kneels 
Your Majesty — see, that way. 

594 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

boy {imitating the Headsman as only a little boy 

can imitate his elders) 

Your Majesty, I am the little boy who lives in 

the yellow cottage on the short-cut to the 

headsman's block. 
king's great-aunt 

How does it happen that you are called Sir 

David, upstart? 

BOY 

I'm not an upstart. The Queen called me Sir 
David Little-Boy. 
king's great-aunt 

What right has the Queen to create a knight? 
Well? 

QUEEN 

By the law passed by my great-great-grand- 
father. 
king's great-aunt 
There is no such law. 

QUEEN 

Oh, yes, there is, Aunt. 

COUNCILLOR 

I think your Majesty's memory fails. 

QUEEN 

It does not fail. 

BOY 

Queen, I won't be Sir David if it will cause you 
trouble. 

QUEEN 

A Queen has one trouble or another, but this 
will be my last. 

595 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

king's great-aunt 
Will you permit this insolence, your Majesty? 

KING 

Her Majesty the Queen claims a law. Can she 
produce the law? 

QUEEN 

I can, your Majesty. 

KING 

Where is it? 

QUEEN 

Here (she takes a scroll from her dress). I found 
it in the room of the King's Great-Aunt. 
king's great-aunt 

By what right does a Queen steal into my 

apartment? Seize her! 

(The Soldiery starts to take the Queen.) 

KING 

Hands off the Queen! 
(The Queen takes a step to cross the ropes.) 
soldiery (bellows) 

You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of 
death. Do you hear? 

QUEEN 

But I'm the Queen. 
soldiery (normally) 

Duty is duty, your Majesty, law is law. (Bel- 
lowing) You can't come inside the ropes, on 
pain of death. Do you hear? 

QUEEN 

Yes, I hear. 

596 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

KING 

Sir Headsman, bring me the law. 
{The Headsman is about to obey.) 
Soldiery {bellows) 

You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of 
death. Do you hear? 

KING 

Then I shall go to the Queen. 

COUNCILLOR 

Your Majesty, it is not fitting. 

BLINDMAN 

I am about to die, oh, Queen; let me give the 
law. 

QUEEN 

About to die? 

BOY 

He is my friend! ... If the ropes weren't 
there could I take the law to the King? 

QUEEN 

Surely. 

BOY 

Let's take the ropes away. 

QUEEN 

Alas, it can't be done. 

BOY 

Let's coil the ropes. 

QUEEN 

How? 

BOY 

So. {He quickly coils the ropes.) 
597 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

soldiery [bellows) 
You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of 
death. Do you hear? 

BOY 

You can't get inside the ropes! There isn't any 

inside. 
que en {going to the king) 

Here is the law, your Majesty. 
king {about to embrace her) 

My Queen! 
king's great-aunt 

I protest. 

COUNCILLOR 

It is not seemly, your Majesty. . . . I'll 
take the law. 

KING 

Read the law. 

COUNCILLOR 

It may be better to discuss it first. 

KING 

Read the law! 
councillor Reading) 
Whereas, all relatives have had an upper hand 
in my kingdom for three generations and have 
passed laws that make it difficult for our 
Queens; Be it resolved, that all such laws shall 
stand, because etiquette and discipline are good 
for all mankind, but should there ever be a 
Queen who can escape the punishments devised 
by relatives she shall be absolute, and there- 
after her word will be the law, for any woman 

59 8 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

who can outwit her husband's relatives is 
worthy to rule a nation. 

QUEEN 

I have escaped. I claim the reward of the law. 

KING 

Your word is absolute. Henceforth you are 

the law. 
king's great-aunt {feathering her nest) 

Dearest, mount the throne. 
queen 

Nay, I shall mount the Headman's block. 

{She mounts the Headman's block, and she is 

very beautiful?) 

I, the Queen — 

COUNCILLOR 

Your Majesty, it is proper to say "We, the 
Queen"— 

QUEEN 

I, the Queen, do first hereby reiterate that this 
brave knight is Sir David Little-Boy. Second, 
that — 

COUNCILLOR 

You should chant it, your Majesty. 
queen {still in normal tones) 

Second, that the office of King's Councillor be 

vacant; third, that the King's Great-Aunt give 

up her ring or her ring-toe — 
king's great-aunt 

Mercy! I am too old to lose my ring! I should 

die without my ring-toe! 

QUEEN 

Very well, you shall keep your ring and your 
toe; but when we dance the minuet you must 
599 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 



sit on your foot, for in future I shall step when 

and where I please. ... Sit on your foot! 

(The Kings Great- Aunt sits on her foot and 

wails.) 
king's great-aunt 

What is the country coming to! (But she is 

very glad to save her toe.) 
you (in the audience) 

Pshaw! this play is just like every other one. 

PROLOGUE 

It isn't over yet. You just wait. 

QUEEN 

Fourth^ the Soldiery must lay down his arms. 
soldiery (bellows) 
You can't come — 

QUEEN 

Lay down your arms! 

SOLDIERY 

Pardon me, your Majesty, it was habit. (He 
lays down his lance.) 

QUEEN 

Loose the bonds from the Blindman and the 

Ballad-Singer. 

(The Soldiery does so.) 

Sir David, your hand. 

(The Boy y in a glow of wonder, steps forward.) 

Here are your friends. 

KING'S GREAT-AUNT 

A noble cannot have friends among the com- 
moners ! 

QUEEN 

Quite true. Quite true. . . . Mime, step 
600 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

forward. . . . Kneel. . . . Arise, Sir 
Mime. Every Friday afternoon you shall have 
an hour's sport with Sir David Little-Boy. 

MIME 

Please, your Majesty, I must wander far away 
in search of farthings from the crowds of all 
the world. 

QUEEN 

You make men happy with your play. We 

give you farthings. You will not want. 

{As she speaks to each of the others^ she makes 

the gesture of knighting him.) 

{They kneel together.) 

QUEEN 

To you, sweet Lady Milkmaid, I give a spotted 
cow; to you, Sir Blindman, a cushion and a 
canopy at the castle gate; to you, Sir Ballad- 
Singer, a vermilion cloak. Arise. And now, 
Sir Little-Boy — {She leans over him) to you who 
saved my life, to you who kept your promise, 
for your mother I give a velvet gown, a silken 
kerchief, and a cloth-of-gold bonnet, and for 
yourself I give a milk-white palfrey, two pails 
of gold, two finger-rings, a castle, and a sword. 
Sir Councillor — 

{The Councillor comes forward and she whispers 
in his ear.) 

COUNCILLOR 

The little one, your Majesty? 

QUEEN 

The best one, Sir Councillor! 
{The Councillor goes into the Castle.) 
601 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

QUEEN 

Court is dismissed! Your Highness, my hus- 
band's Great-Aunt, you may go to your room. 
You have caused us years of anguish; but I 
forgive you. Trumpeter, lead her Highness 
away in state. 

(The Trumpeter blows a little blast and exits , 
shouting "Make way for her Highness , the Kings 
Great-Auntr) 

{The Kings Great- Aunt rises with difficulty and 
waddles away in defeat^) 
king's great-aunt (mumbling) 

I never thought I'd live to see the day — but 
times have changed. {Exits into the Castle.) 

QUEEN 

The Population may go into the gardens. The 

Soldiery may take a holiday. 

{The Population and the Soldiery go out arm in 

arm.) 

Sir Headsman, you may take your ax to the 

museum. 

BOY 

Queen, can he come back and tell me stories? 

QUEEN 

Whenever you may wish. . . . 
{The Headsman starts to go) 

BOY 

Sir Headsman — 

headsman {magnificent to the end) 
Sir Headsman — 

602 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 



BOY 

Sir Headsman — 

HEADSMAN 

Alas, Sir Headsman, no more. I am now only 
the Winder of the King's Four Clocks. 

BOY 

Sir Winder of the King's Four Clocks, I — 

headsman (with the ghost of a smile) 

Sir Winder of the King's Four Clocks ! That 
is the longest title in the kingdom. There is 
some consolation in that. . . . Well? 

boy (looking at the Queen's neck) 

You said your ax was so sharp it would cut a 
hair in two. 

HEADSMAN 

I did and it will. 

boy 
How could it? 

Headsman 

Easily. This way. (He swings it downward 
with all the grace of achieving his swan's song 
with it.) See? 

BOY 

How do you spell hair? 

HEADSMAN 

H-A-R-E, of course. How else? 

BOY 

Why, H-A-I-R. 

603 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

HEADSMAN 

I never quibble. 

(He bows to the Queen, the crowd, and You 

superbly; and he departs.) 

PROLOGUE 

He is going to the Museum where other relics 
are; but civilization will always respect him and 
remember his ax and keep it sharp. 
(The Queen takes her place where the Kings 
Great-Aunt had sat.) 

QUEEN 

And now my friends and friends of Sir David, 
you may say good-bye. In an hour we shall 
meet in the banqueting hall for pies and 
cherry tarts and cakes and things. 
(The Mime steps forward.) 

MIME 

Sir David Little-Boy, I am your slave. 

(He bows very deeply and lays his hand in the 
Boy's. When he has gone Sir David finds that 
he is clasping a golden ball.) 
(The Milkmaid comes to Sir David.) 

MILKMAID 

Isn't it wonderful! 

(And before he knows it she has thrown her arms 
around his neck and kissed him and passed on.) 
(He doesn't know whether to smile or blush, but 
he does hang his head.) 
(The Blindman shuffles up to him.) 
604 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

BLINDMAN 

You only have to close your eyes to make 
things true. {And passes on.) 
(The Ballad-Singer comes.) 

SINGER 

Hello! 

BOY 

Sing me a ballad. 

SINGER 

Later — perhaps. 

BOY 

No, now. 

QUEEN 

Just for us. 

(The Boy sits between her and the King on the 
step at their feet. The Ballad-Singer sits close 
beside him.) 

SINGER 

This is the Ballad of the Silver Star and the 

Crescent Moon. 

(Sings to the wondering Boy.) 

Oh, a silver star and a crescent moon 
Afloat in the sunset sky 
Can make a smile on a scowling face, 
Tho' the face be you or I. 

For the silver star and the crescent moon 
Are like memories afar — 
We always dream at the guarded gate 
And pass the gate ajar. 

605 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

There's a moral to my little song, 

For hearts bowed down and hearts in tune — 

The silver star is a distant dream 

And a waxing hope is the crescent moon. 

Good-bye. And don't forget that the King's 
Great-Aunt owes you six pails of gold. Good- 
bye. 

(He dashes of.) 

(The Boy sits in wonder a moment and then 
looks first at the smiling Queen, then at the pleasant 
King. He takes the knife from his pouch and 
shows it to the King.) 

BOY 

Have you seen my knife? 

(The King slips down beside him, which makes 
the Boy gasp. It isn't everybody who sits beside 
a King.) 

KING 

We had a little boy like you, and he loved his 
knife. . . . He was a Prince. . . . How 
would you like to be a Prince? 

BOY 

I think— Fd like it. 

(He is almost breathless, talking to a King!) 
(The Councillor enters and hands something to 
the Queen.) 

KING 

And would you like to be my son? 

BOY 

Yes, sir. 

606 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

QUEEN 

And mine? 

(As she sits beside him. Now they are not like 
King and Queen and a little Knight. They are 
just three people sitting together.) 
boy (to the lovely Queen) 
Next to my mother I like you. 

KING 

If you were our little boy, some day you would 
be a King. 

BOY 

Oh — I couldn't be a King. 

QUEEN 

Why not? 

BOY 

I wouldn't know what to do. 

KING 

There are many kings who do not know what 
to do. 

QUEEN 

And think of all the happiness you could make. 

BOY 

Could I do whatever I wanted to do? 

KING 

If you were wise. 

BOY 

Could I give a ring to the Blindman? 

KING 

Oh, yes. 

BOY 

And ask him in? 

39 607 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

QUEEN 

Surely. 

BOY 

Then — would I have to have a Great-Aunt? 

KING 

Not now. 

BOY 

Or a Councillor? 

QUEEN 

All that is abolished now. 

BOY 

Then — you're sure I wouldn't have a Great- 
Aunt? 

QUEEN 

Quite sure. 

BOY 

Then — I'd like to be a king! 

QUEEN 

All right. Shut your eyes. 

BOY 

Oh, I know — the Blindman told me to shut my 
eyes to make things come true. 
(He shuts his eyes very tight. The Queen un- 
wraps the something which the Councillor brought. 
It is a beautiful crown. She places it on the 
boys head.) 

QUEEN 

Open your eyes! 

(He opens his eyes and his hands steal up to the 

crown. He can't believe his touch.) 

BOY 

Oh! 

608 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

QUEEN 

How do you feel? 
boy {gasping) 
All right. 

KING 

You are a Prince now. 

{He takes a cape from his shoulder and throws it 

about the Boys shoulders^) 

Arise, my Son and Prince. 

{The Boy stands up, and he looks every inch a 

little king in his crown and robe.) 

BOY 

Am I a real prince? 

QUEEN 

As real as the King or I. 

{The Boy walks a princely step or two, when a 
voice is heard calling "David! David!" It is the 
sweetest voice in the world, and it is sad and 
troubled now. The Boy stops short.) 

BOY 

My mother! 

VOICE 

David! 

BOY 

I am here, Mother. 

{The mother enters. She is the most beautiful 
woman in the world — like your mother and mine, 
but her eyes are wide with fear.) 

MOTHER 

David! Oh, I thought I had lost you! My 
boy! my boy! 

609 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

BOY 

Mother, I am a Prince. 

MOTHER 

Oh, my little dream-boy, you are always my 
Prince. Why did you run away? 

BOY 

I didn't run away. I came to save the Queen. 
And now I am a Prince. 

MOTHER 

The Queen? A Prince! 

{She sees the King and Queen.) 

Oh, your Majesties! {And bows very low.) 

QUEEN 

Arise, Lady Little-Boy. We have made your 
boy our son and heir. 

MOTHER 

Does that mean — I must — he must go from — 
me? 

KING 

When his country calls he must go. 

BOY 

You mean I must leave my mother? 

KING 

Some day you must leave her. 
boy {to his mother) 
But don't you need me now? 

MOTHER 

David, if you are meant to be a king, I want 
you to be a king. 

610 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

QUEEN 

We'll leave you here together. You can tell 

him what you know. 

(She understands what ail women understand.) 

KING 

Farewell, my Prince. 

QUEEN 

My little boy! 

(They leave the mother and the boy together.) 

MOTHER 

David, isn't it wonderful! 

BOY 

Mother, did they mean I had to leave you ? 

MOTHER 

You will be a king. 

BOY 

I can't leave you. 

(He sits disconsolately on the step of the Kings 
seat.) 
mother (sitting beside him) 

You are going to grow up to be a great, fine 
man, my David-Boy, and you will be a king. 
Some day you would have to leave me anyway 
— to go out into the world and seek your 
fortune. 

BOY 

But not so soon. 

MOTHER 

I'll be near, and I'll see you every day. You 
will be a king, my boy! 

611 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

BOY 

You'll be all alone. 

MOTHER 

Oh, no, my boy, never alone. For every hour 
of everv day I'll think of you and dream of you. 

BOY 

Who'll help you work? 

MOTHER 

There'll be no work. It will all be play, for 

my boy is going to be a king. 
boy {as he leans his head against her shoulder) 

Oh, Mother, I'm so tired! 
mother {placing her arm about him) 

I know. Do you remember how I used to sing 

a little lullaby to you when you were tired? 
boy {his eyes are heavy with sleep) 

Uh-huh. 

{The mother hums softly as she places her cheek 

against his head y but the crown interferes some- 

what.) 

BOY 

Sing it out. I like the words. 
mother {singing) 
Sleep, Davie, sleep — 

BOY 

No, I like the old words — the ones when I was 
a little boy. 

MOTHER 

Sleep, baby, sleep — 
Close your tired eyes; 
Here's a kiss from father, 
To make you wealthy; 
612 



SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN 

Here's a kiss from mother, 

To make you healthy; 

And God the Father blows a kiss 

To make you wise. 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Close your tired eyes. 

{The Boy snuggles against his mother and then 
reaches up and takes of the crown. She carefully 
places it beside her and continues her lullaby as 
the curtains close.) 
you {in the audience) 
Well, will he be a king or not? 

PROLOGUE 

His mother knows. 

{The Prologue and the Device-Bearer bow and 
disappear.) 

{The ladies may arrange their hair and the gen- 
tlemen may cough to their throats' content.) 

The Curtains Close 



613 



BIBLIOGRAPHIES 



BOOKS ABOUT THE THEATRE 

BARKER, HARLEY GRANVILLE.— The Exemplary Theatre 

Little, Brown, Boston. 

GOLDBERG, ISAAC— The Drama of Transition: Native and 
Exotic Playcraft. (In preparation.) 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 

HUDSON, HOLLAND.— Little Theatre Handbook. (In prep.) 

Frank Shay, New York. 

LEWISOHN, LUDWIG— The Drama and the Stage. 

Harcourt, Brace, New York. 

MACGOWAN, KENNETH.— The Theatre of Tomorrow. 

Boni & Liveright, New York. 

MITCHELL, ROY. — Shakespeare for Community Theatres. 

Dutton, New York. 

NATHAN, GEORGE JEAN.— The Critic and the Drama. 

Knopf, New York. 

PICHELL, IRVING.— On Building a Theatre. 

Theatre Arts, New York. 

STRATTON, CLARENCE— Producing for Little Theatres. 

Henry Holt, New York. 

THALER, ALWIN.— Shakespeare to Sheridan. 

Harvard University Press, Cambridge. 

WISE, CLAUDE MERTON.— Dramatics for School and Com- 
munity. (In preparation.) Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 



617 



PLAYS OF THE LITTLE THEATRE 



ANDREYEV, LEONID —He the One Who Gets Slapped. 

Brentano's, New York. 
To the Stars. Daniel, London. 

ATLANTIC BOOK OF MODERN PLAYS: Edited by Sterling 
Andrus Leonard. 



Containing: 

Chapin, Harold. 
Gregory, Lady. 
Parkhurst, W. 
Middleton, Geo. 
O'Neill, Eugene. 
Ferguson, J. A. 
Galsworthy, J. 
Saunders, L. 
Dunsany, Lord. 
Dix, B. M. 
Mackaye, Percy. 
Brighouse, H. 
Synge, J. M. 
Yeats, W. B. 
Bottomley, G. 



Philosopher of Butterbiggins 

Spreading the News 

The Beggar and the King 

Tides 

He 

Campbell of Kilmhor 

The Sun 

The Knave of Hearts 

Fame and the Poet 

The Captain of the Gate 

Gettysburg 

Lonsome-Like 

Riders to the Sea 

Land of Heart's Desire 

The Riding to Lithend 



4m. iw. 
7m. 3w. 
3m. 

3m. iw. 
5m. IW. 
5m. IW. 
im. iw. 
14m. 2w. 
2m. iw. 
5 m. 

im. iw. 
2m. 2w. 
im. 3w. 
3m. 3w. 
9m. 9W. 



BAIRD, GEORGE M. P.— Mirage 



Atlantic Monthly, Boston. 

2m. 4W. 
Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 



BAX, CLIFFORD and RUBINSTEIN, H. W— Shakespeare. 
A play in five episodes. Houghton, Mifflin, Boston. 



BEACH, LEWIS.— Four One-Act Plays 
Containing: 

The Clod 

A Guest for Dinner 

Love Among the Lions 

Brothers 



BIERSTADT, EDWARD HALE. 



4m. iw. 
4m 

3m. iw. 
3m. 
Brentano's, New York. 

-Sounding Brass. 3m. iw. 
Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 



6l8 



BIBLIOGRAPHIES 



BOTTOMLEY, GORDON.— King Lear's Wife, etc. 
Containing: 

King Lear's Wife 
The Crier by Night 
The Riding to Lithend 
Midsummer Eve 
Laodice and Danae 



BROOKE, RUPERT.— Lithuania 



2m. 7w. 

2m. 2w. 

9m. 9W. 

2m. 5W. 

im. 8w. 
Small, Maynard, Boston. 

4m. 2W. 
Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 



BROWN, ALICE.— One Act Plays 
Containing: 

The Hero 
Doctor Auntie 
The Crimson Lake 
Milly Dear 
The Web 
The Loving Cup 
Joint Owners in Spain 
The Sugar House 
A March Wind 



3m. iw. 
2m. 2W. 
8m. 
2m. 2w. 

3m. 2W. 

5m. 9W. 
4W. 

4m. 3w. 
2m. 2w. 
Macmillan, New York. 
CHIEF CONTEMPORARY DRAMATISTS. Second Series: 
Edited by Thomas H. Dickinson. 
Containing: 



Bennett and Knoblock. 
Maugham, W. Somerset. 
Drinkwater, John. 
Ervine, St. John G. 
Dunsany, Lord. 

Walter, Eugene. 
Peabody, Josephine Preston. 
Hazelton and Benrimo. 
Porto-Riche, Georges de. 
Rostand, Edmond. 
Guitry, Sacha. 
Thoma, Ludwig. 
Schnitzler, Arthur. 
Bahr, Hermann. 
d'Annunzio, Gabriele. 
Benavente, Jacinto. 
Gorki, Maxim. 
Heiberg, Gunnar. 



Milestones. 

Our Betters. 

Abraham Lincoln. 

Mixed Marriage. 

King'Argimenes and the Un- 
known Warrior. 

The Easiest Way. 

The Piper. 

The Yellow Jacket. 

A Loving Wife. 

Cyrano de Bergerac. 

Pasteur. 

"Moral." 

Living Hours. 

The Concert. 

Gioconda. 

The Bonds of Interest. 

The Lower Depths. 

The Tragedy of Love. 

Houghton, Mifflin, Boston. 



619 



BIBLIOGRAPHIES 



CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS, with outline study 
of the one-act play and bibliographies by B. Roland Lewis. 
Containing: 



Barrie, Sir James M. 
Middleton, George. 
Thurston, Althea. 
Mackaye, Percy. 
Gregory, Lady Augusta. 
Pillot, Eugene. 
Tchekov, Anton. 
Crocker, Bosworth. 
Kreymborg, Alfred. 
Greene, Paul. 
Hopkins, Arthur. 
Hervieu, Paul. 
Marks, Jeannette. 
Wolff, Oscar M. 
Pinski, David. 
Bornstead, Beulah. 
Sudermann, Hermann. 
Strindberg, August. 



The Twelve-Pound Look. 

Tradition. 

The Exchange. 

Sam Average. 

Hyacinth Halvey. 

The Gazing Globe. 

The Boor. 

The Last Straw. 

Manikin and Minikin. 

White Dresses. 

Moonshine. 

Modesty. 

The Deacon's Hat. 

Where But in America. 

A Dollar. 

The Diabolical Circle. 

The Far-Away Princess. 

The Stronger. 

Scribner, New York. 



COOK, GEORGE CRAM —The Spring 9 m. 2w. 

Frank Shay, New York. 

CULBERTSON, ERNEST HOWARD.— Goat Alley. 3 acts. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 

DARGAN, OLIVE TILFORD and PETERSON, F.-The 

Flutter of the Goldleaf, etc. 
Containing: 

The Flutter of the Goldleaf. 

The Journey. 

Every child. 

Two Doctors of Akragas. 

Scribner, New York. 

DAVIS, OWEN.— The Detour. 3 acts. Little, Brown, Boston. 

DELL, FLOYD.— Sweet and Twenty 3m. iw. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 
Also in: The Provincetown Plays. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati 

620 



BIBLIOGRAPHIES 



DRINKWATER, JOHN.— Pawns. 

Containing: 

The Storm. 

The God of Quiet. 

X-O: A Night of the Trojan War. 

Cophetua. 

Houghton, Mifflin, Boston. 
Mary Stuart. 6m. 2w. 

Houghton, Mifflin, Boston. 
Oliver Cromwell. 19m. 3W. 

Houghton, Mifflin, Boston. 

FICKE, ARTHUR DAVISON.— Mr. Faust 6m. 2w. 

Frank Shay, New York. 

FIFTY CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS: Edited by 



Frank Shay and Pierre Loving. 
Containing: 
von Hofmannsthal, Hugo. 
Schnitzler, Arthur. 
Maeterlinck, Maurice. 
More, Federico. 
Ancey, Georges. 
Porto-Riche, Georges de. 
Ettlinger, Karl. 
Wedekind, Frank. 
Bennett, Arnold. 
Calderon, George. 
Cannan, Gilbert. 
Crocker, Bosworth. 
Dowson, Ernest. 
Ellis, Mrs. Havelock. 
Hankin, St. John. 
Mukerji, Dhan Gopal. 
Gregory, Lady. 
Speenhoff, J. H. 
Biro, Lajos. 
Giacosa, Giuseppe. 
Andreyev, Leonid. 
Tchekoff, Anton. 
Benavente, Jacinto. 
Quinteros, The. 
Strindberg, August. 
Wied, Gustav. 
Beach, Lewis. 
Cowan, Sada. 



Madonna Dianora. 

Literature. 

The Intruder. 

Interlude. 

Monsieur Lamblin. 

Fancoise' Luck. 

Altruism. 

The Tenor. 

A Good Woman. 

The Little Stone House. 

Mary's Wedding. 

The Baby Carriage. 

The Pierrot of the Minute. 

The Subjection of Kezia. 

The Constant Lover. 

The Judgment of Indra. 

The Workhouse Ward. 

Louise. 

The Grandmother. 

The Rights of the Soul. 

Love of One's Neighbor. 

The Boor. 

His Widow's Husband. 

A Sunny Morning. 

The Creditor. 

Autumn Fires. 

Brothers. 

In the Morgue. 



621 



BIBLIOGRAPHIES 



Cronyn, George W. 
Davies, Mary Carolyn. 
Day, Frederic L. 
Flanner, Hildegarde. 
Glaspell, Susan. 
Gerstenberg, Alice. 
Helburn, Theresa. 
Hudson, Holland. 
Kemp, Harry. 
Langner, Lawrence. 
Millay, Edna St. Vincent. 
Moeller, Philip. 
MacMillan, Mary. 
O'Neill, Eugene G. 
Stevens, Thomas Wood. 
Stevens, Wallace. 

Tompkins, Frank G. 
Walker, Stuart. 
Wellman, Rita. 
Wilde, Percival. 
Asch, Sholom. 
Pinski, David. 



A Death in Fever Flat. 
The Slave with Two Faces. 
The Slump. 
Mansions. 
Trifles. 

The Pot Boiler. 
Enter the Hero. 
The Shepherd in the Distance. 
Boccaccio's Untold Tale. 
Another Way Out. 
Aria Da Capo. 
Helena's Husband. 
The Shadowed Star. 
He. 

The Nursery Maid of Heaven. 
Three Travelers Watch a Sun- 
rise. 
Sham. 

The Medicine Show. 
For All Time. 
The Finger of God. 
Night. 
Forgotten Souls. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 



FLANNER, HILDEGARDE.— Mansions im. 2w. 

Stewart Kidd> Cincinnati. 

FYFE, HAMILTON— The Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory. 

Daniel, London. 

GALE, ZONA.— Miss Lulu Bett. Appleton, New York. 



GALSWORTHY, JOHN— Six Short Ph 


lys. 


Containing: 




The First and the Last 


2m. iw. 


The Little Man 


9m. 3W. 


Hall Marked 


6m. 4W. 


Defeat 


im. iw. 


The Sun 


2m. iw. 


Punch and Go 


8m. 2w. 




Scribner> New York. 


GERSTENBERG, ALICE.— Ten One-Act Plays. 


Containing: 




He Said and She Said 


im. 3W. 


Overtones 


4 w. 


The Unseen 


im. 2w. 


622 





BIBLIOGRAPHIES 



The Buffer 






2m. 4W. 


Attuned 






IW. 


The Pot Boiler 






5m. 2W. 


Hearts 






4 w. 


Beyond 






IW. 


Fourteen 






im. 2w. 


The Illuminatti 


in Drama Libre 


im. iw. 






Brentano's, New York. 


GLASPELL, SUSAN —Inheritors. 


Small, 


Maynard, Boston. 


GOLDRING, DOUGLAS — 


The Fight 


: for Freedom. 4m. 4W. 



Seltzer, New York. 
GREGORY, LADY —The Image and Other Plays. 
Containing: 

The Image 5m. 2w. 

Hanrahan's Oath 3m. 3W. 

Shanwalla 9m. 3W. 

The Wrens 4m. iw. 

Putnam, New York. 

HARVARD PLAYS : Plays of the 47 Workshop. Third Series. 
Containing: 

Manley, William F. The Crowsnest. 

Kister, M. A., Jr. The Hard Heart. 

Bray, Louise Whitefield. Mis' Mercy. 
Ketcham, Arthur. The Other One. 

Brentano's, New York. 
HERBERT, A. P.— Wrong Numbers. 

The Book of Jonah. 

In "Little Bits of Moonshine." 

Knopf, New York. 

HOUSMAN, LAURENCE —Angels and Ministers. 
Containing: 

The Queen: God Bless Her! 3m. nw. 

His Favourite Flower. 2m. 2w. 

The Comforter 3m. 2w. 

Possession 2m. 5W. 

Hareourt, Brace, New York. 

HUDSON, HOLLAND.— The Sheoherd in the Distance. 10 
characters. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 

KOTELIANSKY, S. S.— The Green Ring. 4 acts. 

40 Daniel. London. 



623 



BIBLIOGRAPHIES 



KREYMBORG, ALFRED.— Plays for Merry Andrews. 
Containing: 

Vote the New Moon. 

At the Sign of the Thumb and Nose. 

Uneasy Street. 

The Silent Waiter. 

Monday. 

Sunwise Turn, New York. 

LANGNER, LAWRENCE— Five One-Act Plays. 
Containing: 

Matinata. 2m. iw. 

Another Way Out. 2m. 3w. 

Pie. 2m. 2w. 

The Family Exit. 4m. 3W. 

Licensed. im. 2w. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 
LAWRENCE, D. H.— Touch and Go. Seltzer, New York. 

LITTLE THEATRE CLASSICS. Vol. IV: Edited by Samuel 
A. Eliot, Jr. 
Containing: 

Shakuntala. 

The Wandering Scholar from Paradise. 
All for Love, or The World Well Lost. 
The Martyrdom of Ali. 

Little, Brown, Boston. 

LORD, KATHARINE— Plays for School and Camp. (For 
Boys and Girls, 10 to 15.) 
Containing: 

The Raven Man. 9 characters. 

Buried Treasure. 8 characters. 

Kris Kringle Makes a Flight. Large cast. 
The Three Bears. 5 characters. 

The Pied Piper. Large cast. 

The Honorable Miss. 10 characters. 

Little, Brown, Boston. 

MACKAY, CONSTANCE D'ARCY— Franklin. 4 acts. 

Henry Holt, New York. 

MACMILLAN, MARY— Third Book of Short Plays. (In prep.) 
Containing: 

A Weak-End. 5m. 8w. 

In Heaven. 4m. 111:"." 

Standing Moving. 2m. 2w. 

624 



BIBLIOGRAPHIES 



An Apocryphal Episode. 2m. 2w. 

The Storm. im. low. 

When Two's Not Company. 2m. 

Peter Donelly. im. 3w. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 
A Fan and Two Candlesticks. 2m. iw. 

Stewart Kidd y Cincinnati. 
MARKS, JEANNETTE— The Sun Chaser. 4 acts. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 
MARQUIS, DON.— Words and Thoughts 2m. 4 w. 

In "Carter and Other People." 

Appleton, New York. 
MASEFIELD, JOHN.— Collected Plays. 
Containing: 

The Campden Wonder 4m. 2w. 

Mrs. Harrison 3m. iw. 

The Locked Chest 3m. iw. 

The Sweeps of Ninety-Eight 7m. iw. 

The Tragedy of Nan 8m. 5W. 

The Tragedy of Pompey the Great 17m. 5W. 
The Faithful 17m. 3W. 

Philip the King 8m. iw. 

Good Friday 7m. iw. 

Macmillan, New York. 
Esther and Berenice (two plays). 

Esther 6m. 5W. 

Berenice 3m. 4W. 

Macmillan y New York. 
MASTERPIECES OF MODERN SPANISH DRAMA: Edited 
by Barrett H. Clark. 
Containing: 

Echegaray, Jos6. The Great Galeoto. 

Guimerd, Angel. Daniela. 

P£rez-Gald6s, Benito. The Duchess of San Quentin. 
Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 
MILLAY, EDNA ST. VINCENT.— 

The Lamp and the Bell. Five acts. Large cast. 

Frank Shay, New York. 

Aria Da Capo. 4m. iw. Kennerley, New York. 

{Also in: Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays and The 

Provincetown Plays. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati.) 

Two Slatterns and a King. 2m. 2w. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 
The Princess Marries a Page. (In preparation.) 

Frank Shay, New York. 
625 



BIBLIOGRAPHIES 



MILNE, A. A —Second Plays. 
Containing: 

Make-Believe. 3 acts for children. 
Mr. Pirn Passes By. 3m. 4W. 

The Camberley Triangle 2m. iw. 

The Romantic Age 5m. 4W. 

The Stepmother 3m. iw. 

Chatto & WinduSy London. 

MOLNAR, FRANZ.— Liliom. 8 scenes. ■ 19m. 8w. 

Boni & Liverighty New York. 

MORLEY, CHRISTOPHER.— Thursday Evening im. 3W. 

Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati. 

NO PLAYS OF JAPAN, THE: Translated by Arthur Waley. 

Knopf, New York. 
O'DEA, MARK.— Red Bud Women. 
Containing: 

The Song of Solomon 2m. 3W. 

Shivaree 2m. 2w. 

Miss Myrtle Says "Yes" im. 3W. 

Not In the Lessons 2m. 2w. 

Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati. 

ONE-ACT PLAYS BY MODERN AUTHORS: Edited by 
Helen Louise Cohen. 
Containing: 
Tarkington, Booth. Beauty and the Jacobin 3m. 2w. 
Dowson, Ernest. The Pierrot of the Minute im. iw. 

Down, Oliphant. The Maker of Dreams 2m. 2w. 

Mackaye, Percy. Gettysburg im. iw. 

Milne, A. A. Wurzel-Flummery 3m. 2w. 

Brighouse, Harold. Maid of France 3m. 2w. 

Gregory, Lady. Spreading the News 7m. 3W. 

Mark, Jeannette. Welsh Honeymoon 3m. 2w. 

Rogers, Robert E. The Boy Will im. 3W. 

Synge, John M. Riders to the Sea im. 3W. 

Dunsany, Lord. A Night at an Inn 8m. 

Young, Stark. The Twilight Saint 2m. 2w. 

Egerton, Lady Alix. Masque of the Two Strangers 

14 char. 
Maeterlinck, Maurice. The Intruder 4m. 3W. 

Peabody, Josephine P. Fortune and Men's Eyes 8m. 2w. 
Galsworthy, John. The Little Man 6m. iw. 

Harcourty Brace, New York. 

626 



BIBLIOGRAPHIES 



\, 



O'NEILL, EUGENE —The Emperor Jones 

The Straw In one volume 

Different 

Boni & Liveright, New York. 
The Emperor Jones 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 
Gold Boni & Liveright, New York. 

Beyond the Horizon 

Boni & Liveright, New York. 

OVERSTREET, H. A —Hearts to Mend 2m. iw. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 

PEABODY, JOSEPHINE PRESTON.— Portrait of Mrs. W. 
Three acts and an Epilogue. Houghton, Mifflin, Boston. 

PHILLIPS, STEPHEN.— Collected Plays. 
Containing: 

Aylmer's Secret. 

Ulysses. 

The Sin of David. 

Nero. 

Faust. 

Pietro of Siena. 

Macmillan, New York. 

PRZYBYSZEWSKI, STANI SLAW.— Snow. 4 acts. 

Nicholas L. Brown, New York. 

REPRESENTATIVE ONE-ACT PLAYS BY BRITISH AND 
IRISH AUTHORS: Edited by Barrett H. Clark. 
Containing: 

Pinero, Arthur. The Widow of Wasdale Head 

5m. iw. 



Jones, Henry Arthur. 


The Goal 


4m. 2W. 


Wilde, Oscar. 


Salome 


I2m. 2W. 


Sutro, Alfred. 


The Man in the Stalls 


2m. iw. 


Fenn, Frederick, and 






Pryce, Richard. 


'Op-O'-Me-Thumb 


im. 5W. 


Gordon-Lennox, 


The Impertinence of the 


Creature 


Cosmo. 




im. iw. 


Bennett, Arnold. 


The Stepmother. 


im. 3w. 


Barker, Granville. 


Rococo 


3m. 3W. 


Cannan, Gilbert. 


James and John 


3m. iw. 


Housman, Laurence. 


The Snow Man 


3m. 2W. 


Houghton, Stanley. 


Fancy Free 


im. 3W. 


Brighouse, Harold. 


Lonesome-Like. 


2m. 2W. 


Baker, Elizabeth. 


Miss Tassey 
627 


5 w. 



BIBLIOGRAPHIES 



Robins, Gertrude. Makeshifts. 2m. 2w. 

Down, Oliphant. The Maker of Dreams 2m. iw. 

William Butler Yeats. The Land of Heart's Desire 3m. 2w. 
Synge, J. M. Riders to the Sea im. 4W. 

Gregory, Lady. Spreading the News. 7m. 3W. 

Ervine, St. John G. The Magnanimous Lover 3m. 2w. 
Dunsany, Lord. The Golden Doom 10m. iw. 

Little, Brown, Boston. 

SHAW, G. BERNARD.— Back to Methuselah. 

Brentanos, New York. 

SHORT PLAYS BY REPRESENTATIVE AUTHORS : Edited 
by Alice M. Smith. 
Containing: 
Sigurjonsson, Johann. The Hraun Farm. 6m. 8w. 

Marks, Jeannette. The Merry Merry Cuckoo 4m. iw. 
Masefield, John. The Locked Chest 4m. iw. 

Tagore, R. The Post Office 9m. iw. 

Walker, S. Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil 

5m. 2W. 

Mackay, Constance. The Silver Lining 2m. iw. 

Fulda, Ludwig. By Ourselves 3m. 2w. 

Torrence, Ridgely. The Rider of Dreams 3m. iw. 

Gregory, Lady. Spreading the News 7m. 3W. 

Tchekhoff, Anton. The Swan Song 2m. 

Sutro, Alfred. The Man on the Kerb im. iw. 

MacMillan, Mary. The Shadowed Star. 3m. 4W. 

Macmillan, New York. 

STEWART, DONALD OGDEN— For the Freedom of the 
World. 2 acts. In "A Parody Outline of History" 

Doran, New York. 

STEWART KIDD LITTLE THEATRE PLAYS: Edited by 
Grace Adams. (Published separately.) 

Tarkington, Booth. The Ghost Story. 

Bierstadt, Edward Hale. Sounding Brass. 
MacMillan, Mary. A Fan and Two Candlesticks. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 

STEWART KIDD MODERN PLAYS : Edited by Frank Shay. 
(Published separately.) 

Tompkins, Frank G. Sham. 

Flanner, Hildegarde. Mansions. 

Hudson, Holland. The Shepherd in the Distance. 

Overstreet, H. A. Hearts to Mend. 

O'Neill, Eugene. The Emperor Jones. 

628 



BIBLIOGRAPHIES 



Dell, Floyd. Sweet and Twenty. 

Walker, Stuart. Six Who Pass While the Lentils 

Boil. 
Millay, Edna St.Vincent. Two Slatterns and a King. 
Morley, Christopher. Thursday Evening. 
Baird, George M. P. Mirage. 
Walker, Stuart. Sir David Wears a Crown. 

West, Duffy R. Society Notes. 

Brooke, Rupert. Lithuania. 

Gnudtzmann, Albert. Eyes That Cannot See. 
Prydz, Alvilde. In Confidence. 

Mackall, Lawton & 

Bellamy, Francis R. Scrambled Eggs. 
Loving, Pierre. The Stick-Up. 

Quintero, Serafin, & 

Joaquin. The Fountain of Youth. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 
TARKINGTON, BOOTH.— The Ghost Story 5m. $w. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 
TOMPKINS, FRANK G.— Sham 3m. iw. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 
TREASURY OF PLAYS FOR CHILDREN: Edited by Mont- 
rose J. Moses. 
Containing: 

Fourteen plays requiring only children for casting. 

Little, Brown, Boston. 
TREASURY OF PLAYS FOR WOMEN: Edited by Frank 
Shay. 
Containing: 
Fifteen plays requiring only women for casting. 

Little, Brown, Boston. 
VAGABOND PLAYS: First Series. 
Containing: 
The Double Miracle by Robert Garland 4m. iw. 

On Vengeance Height by Allan Davis and C. 

C. Vencill 3m. iw. 

Pan in Ambush by Marjorie Patterson 3m. 4W. 

Release by Edward H. Smith 5m. 

Importance of Being a Roughneck 

by Robert Garland 3m. iw. 

The Conflict by Clarice Vallette McCauley 

im. 4W. 
Norman, Remington, Baltimore. 
All of the above plays may be had separately from the same 
publisher. 

629 



m v, 



BIBLIOGRAPHIES 



WALKER, STUART— Portmanteau Adaptations. 
Containing: 

Gammer Gurton's Needle. 
The Birthday of the Infanta. 
Sir David Wears a Crown. 
Nellijumbo. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 
Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 
Sir David Wears a Crown. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 
WEST, DUFFY R— Society Notes 3m. 3W. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 

WILDE, PERCIVAL— Eight Comedies for Little Theatres. 
Containing: 

The Sequel. 3m. iw. 

The Previous Engagement. im. 

The Dyspeptic Ogre. Large cast 

In the Net. 4m. 

A Wonderful Woman. 3m. iw. 

Catesby. im. iw. 

His Return. im. 3W. 

Embryo. 3m. 2w. 

Little, Brown, Boston. 
YOUNG, STARK.— Three One-Act Plays. 
Containing: 

Addio 3m. iw. 

Madretta 2m. iw. 

At the Shrine im. iw. 

Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 




63O 



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